Quiet

I was afraid to ask 

If she called me quiet

I was teetering on the edge

Of an abyss of silence

Never admitting

To my apparent muteness 

For fear it would settle 

As a permanent outer skin 

One I could never wash away

With soap or

Water or

A gallon of tears

And so it would follow me

The thick, gray cloud

Of words unsaid 

And when anyone looked at me 

They would say:

"She's loud-

once you get to know her." 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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