I wake up and dress myself.
I go downstairs to see my parents.
They say hello, but they know
I do not respond.

I choose not to respond.
For I know that my words are merely air.
Although I am proficient in English
I choose not to speak.
The pressures of the world have
Robbed me of my ability to vocalize
The world has silenced me

I pack my bag and I depart for school
On the bus, I speak to no one
By choice.

At school I walk through the halls
But not smoothly.
The kids push me into lockers
“It’s ok,” they say.
“It’s not like he’ll fight back.”
“He can’t even speak.”
“He doesn’t even know what’s happening.”
But I do.

I go to my first class
And I sit
I sit there silently
I take notes and understand
But not once do I raise my hand
Not to make a point
And certainly not to share my ideas
Nor do I turn to my side and speak.
The teacher thinks I can’t speak
But I can.








This is how most classes go
Until lunch
At lunch, I sit alone at a table
Far in the corner of the room

Once a lunch period
Sometimes twice
Or maybe three times
The “popular” kids come over
They interrupt my studies
They throw my books on the floor
They tip me out of my chair

Once again, I hear
“He doesn’t understand.”
And yet, they know nothing.
Because I do understand.

Then comes the rest of my day
Most classes are like the morning
Where I sit and say nothing
I get the occasional smirk
And then more smirks follow
Smirks from the delinquents in the room
The ones who think making me look bad
Will get them ahead in life.

The bell rings
And the students leave
And on the bus ride home
I still do not speak

I go home
And walk through the door
“Hello,” is what I hear
From my mom
And from my dad
Though they know
I do not respond.

The day goes by
And I do my homework.
But at the end of the day
I have had enough


I lie in bed
And look up at the ceiling
And say one word:

“Why?”