He Was Tired, But No One Asked

(For My Father)

I was never taught how to cry.

Only how to carry.

How to work. How to provide. How to endure.

But never how to unravel. Never how to say, I’m tired.

They told me strength looked like silence.

That a man doesn’t complain.

That love is shown, not spoken.

That rest is earned, not deserved.

So I held everything.

The pressure. The fear. The dreams I buried to build a life for someone else.

And maybe that’s why you think I’m distant.

Maybe that’s why you think I don’t feel.

But I do.

I feel everything.

I just never learned how to show it.

Sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever understand the version of me

who had to stay strong so you could be soft.

Who walked through fire quietly

so you wouldn’t have to burn.

This isn’t an excuse.

It’s just the truth.

I didn’t always get it right.

But I always tried.

And if I seemed far away,

know that in my own quiet way,

I was loving you with everything I had left.