the art of disappearing in plain sight

did i grow,

or did i simply learn to shrink myself
into the spaces where expectations fit?

did i mature,
or did i just become fluent
in the language of suppression—
knowing when to nod, when to smile,
when to say i’m fine
without a flicker of hesitation?

is this healing,
or have i only mastered
the delicate craft of concealment,
tucking away wounds so neatly
that even i forget where they hurt?

no one tells you that adulthood
isn’t just about choices,
but about endurance—
about carrying things in silence,
about learning that pain
doesn’t make the world pause for you.

they say you grow when you let go,
but what if i didn’t let go?
what if i just got better at holding on
without letting it show?

what if strength
is just another word for exhaustion,
worn with a straight back
and steady breath?

so tell me,
did i grow,
or did i simply become better
at disappearing?