Some wounds never leave a bruise.
They don’t bleed. They don’t leave broken bones or scars that anyone else can point to.
They settle quietly inside a person’s mind, shaping how they see themselves for years, sometimes for a lifetime.
The Silent Blade was born from that truth.
People often think the deepest pain comes from shouting, violence or obvious cruelty.
But emotional wounds are often much quieter. They come from the words left unsaid, the affection never given.
The constant comparisons, the dismissive sighs, the feeling that no matter what you do, you will never quite be enough.
For me, one question has echoed throughout my life:
“Why doesn’t Mum treat me like my sister?”
That question eventually grew into another:
“If my mum never loved me, how can anyone else?”
Those questions show how children naturally turn rejection inward. Rather than questioning the adult’s behaviour, they question their own worth. Over time, those questions become beliefs, and those beliefs become the inner critic that follows them into adulthood,. Quietly repeating the same lies until they feel like truth.
Those thoughts don’t simply disappear when childhood ends. They become the voice that follows you into adulthood, questioning your worth, your relationships and even your right to take up space.
That is the silent blade.
It doesn’t attack once.
It cuts slowly, over and over again, until the lies begin to sound like truth. They become echoes of a voice that cuts deeper than any physical wound, and those echoes can last a lifetime.
The poem also speaks about something many survivors understand all too well: invisible wounds. Society often recognises physical injuries because they can be seen. Emotional injuries are different. They live beneath the surface, hidden behind smiles, humour or simply getting through another day.
Many people become experts at looking okay.
Inside, they’re still carrying words spoken decades earlier.
It wasn’t until I began doing the difficult work of shadow work that I realised those words were never truly mine. They belonged to the people who should have loved me, protected me and helped me believe in myself.
Letting them go wasn’t easy.
When you’ve heard the same messages from a young age, they become woven into your identity. You don’t question them because they’ve always been there. They feel like your own thoughts, even though they were planted by someone else.
Healing meant learning to separate their voice from my own. It meant understanding, and eventually believing, that I was worth fighting for.
So I let go of what was never mine to carry.
I gave it back.
The Silent Blade isn’t just about my story.
It’s for anyone who grew up feeling unseen, unwanted or never quite enough.
The ending of the poem is intentionally unresolved.
The silent blade is still whispering.
For many people, healing isn’t a straight line or a perfect ending. Old voices can return during moments of fear, rejection or self-doubt. The difference is recognising whose voice it really is.
That was one of the greatest lessons I learned. Healing didn’t begin when the voice disappeared. Healing began when I understood that it wasn’t mine.
If these words resonate with you, I hope they remind you of one thing:
The blade may have shaped your past, but it does not get to define your worth.
Ultimately, The Silent Blade is a poem about invisible trauma, the stories we inherit about ourselves, and the courage it takes to give those stories back. It reminds us that the deepest wounds are not always the ones the world can see, and that reclaiming your own voice can be one of the hardest and most meaningful acts of survival.
The Silent Blade is part of my Fractured Mind Collection, a series of poems exploring trauma, survival, identity and the lasting psychological impact of emotional abuse. Through poetry, I hope to give a voice to experiences that are often invisible but deeply real.
Thank you for reading
Your DislexicPoet 🖤
Poetry in a Northern Kitchen
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