What book are you reading right now?

There’s a room I never show,
Where voices whisper soft and low.
They echo doubts I didn’t choose,
And twist the truths I thought I knew.

Some days they crowd the quiet air,
Like shadows sitting in my chair.
They speak in tones that mimic mine,
But bend the meaning every time.

“You’re not enough,” one likes to say,
Another laughs, then fades away.
They argue loud when I’m alone,
Then vanish when I’m on the phone.

I smile and nod, I play the part,
But silence doesn’t mean no heart.
It means I’m fighting just to breathe,
While thoughts like thorns grow underneath.

I’ve learned to walk with heavy feet,
To carry storms and still seem sweet.
To hold my ground when none feels firm,
And ride the waves I didn’t earn.

But still—I rise, I write, I speak,
I find the light in every leak.
And though the voices never cease,
I carve my own small piece of peace.