Resentment does not thunder in—
It tiptoes in on quiet sighs,
A single word left unexplained,
A glance that looked away, not wise.
It starts as something barely there,
A flicker lost behind the eyes—
A moment when we needed care
But silence answered hurt with lies.
It stacks, not loud, but layer-thin:
A favor missed, a thought unheard,
A burden carried once again
Without the grace of kindest word.
Each layer pressed, not smoothed or seen,
Becomes a brick without release.
The wall builds up, emotion-dense,
And blocks the path to inner peace.
Resentment is not rage, not fire—
It’s cooler than the surface shows.
It is the weight of unmet needs,
The ache of what one never knows.
But pause—breathe in, and speak it out.
Unstack the pain with gentle hands.
Let anger name its softer core,
And truth arise where silence stands.
For when we seek to understand
The roots that tangled in the past,
We find resentment starts to melt—
And love, at last, can hold us fast.