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: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741