It Must Be Nice To Be Heard

They always told me

"You write too much"

So, I stopped.

At the dinner table,

They'd silence me 

With their glaring eyes.

And all I could do was painfully smile

My "two cents" weren't worth any price 

Forced in a bubble

Who needed to burst

My innermost thoughts 

Turned into fears

A gift of unrequited love

With no receipts

The unspoken words cut skin deep 

Instead, the scissors spoke for me

But instead of healing my wounds,

You put me in a soundproof glass box

And taunted me with the key

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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