Quiet.

Quiet is what people call her,
Quiet is her day,
Quiet is her night.

Silence, people are afraid
It’s like they can’t be with themselves
But not her,
This is her normal, Silence.

Quiet are her actions,
Quiet is her prayer.

Her quiet prayer then moves to
Silent tears sliding down her burning cheeks
Her only warm sensation.

Quiet is the world she lives in,
A world where quiet is good.

Quiet is her movement,
Quiet are her words

Her words are quiet.
Yet they hold meaning,
They hold truth,
Waiting to be heard.

They say quiet is weakness
But for her
Quit is her strength
Her weapon. 

What if. . .

I draw a portrait
I draw a portrait of a girl,
A girl who has regrets,
A girl who has made her upset

A girl who has fell deep into an unknown world
She asks,
How did I get here?
How do I fix this mess?

“It’s all my fault,” she says.

Hesitant.
Hesitant are her action, her thoughts.
Her circumstances tear her down.

The one she once went to,
Is now far from reach
She sees her, she talks to her
But they still don’t seem to meet

There is a wall that separates her
A wall that builds up
Not wanting to break down

That wall has no foundation
It’s weak, and lacks structure
But the demons inside her head
Scream, yell, shout!
Saying ‘Don’t even try. She’ll take it the wrong way. She hates you, she’ll never forgive you’

She gave in
She let the wall grow
Letting it grow through life

Until one day
She lost her
And this time for real

Leaving her to think,
‘What if. . .”