“Quiet.”

a poem written by me.

I wish I was soft spoken. Perhaps people wouldn’t mistake my character that way. When I say soft, I mean gentle; Rhythmic like a hum — as hushed as the wind.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always wondered why my voice was deeper; much less than the girls in my family. It bothered me. Knowing it was another differentially to add onto my list of defects. It never made sense either. My mother, she was loud. Her volume never left 100 — even if we were shoulder to shoulder. With my father, it was difficult. He himself may have been silent, but his world never was. He was surrounded by screaming and yelling. Cheering even; Sometimes. He can often be loud in times of frustration or with friends. But he’s as quiet as a mouse the second it all fades away.

I find myself looking at a reflection in that way. And it isn’t that I don’t enjoy being loud with my friends, but it’s the feeling of not being able to control what comes out of my mouth in that moment.

“Is it better to speak or to die?” is a phrase I find myself often asking before I go to a social event. More often than not the answer is inconclusive. I get so excited to talk that I spill too much and then go to sleep that night wanting to curl up in a ball and never touch the light of day again. It is very hard to socialize with such a curse as this; and I wish there was someone out there who was the same as me. Maybe they could be my friend. We wouldn’t even have to talk. Our minds will be so full of words that our mouths wouldn’t ever need to catch up — even if they never stopped talking for 9 years.

But I guess that’s just it.

This poem is as inconclusive as the question I ask myself every morning when I wake up. Because I don’t think I can ever become “quiet.” My mind is a never-ending carousel with thoughts that come and go just as the passengers of the real ride do. My mind is a riveting storm that forms together into a bigger disaster.

For I have no mouth, yet I must scream.

September 9, 2025.