Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I have nothing to say
Behind these closed lips are thousands of stories,
Endless words, thoughts, emotions
Waiting to be summoned
But fear is the glue that keeps my mouth shut
And the words scrawled on these pages
Convey more than my hushed voice ever could.

Just because I smile, doesn’t mean that I’m content
Beneath this ill-fitting cloak of concealment
With all its plastic sincerity,
There is a girl with fragile dreams
And eyes brimming with fire
Thrown into a world where she suffocates
In the heat of human expectations.

Just because I am ignored, doesn’t mean I am transparent
Carelessly I am dismissed, overlooked
They don’t understand that, like them,
I have felt pain, sorrow and joy
I am alive
My heart beats as their’s do
But we are separated by invisible walls.

I am more than a flickering, nameless face
Whispered words, a vacant smile
I am not a long-forgotten book lying facedown on the shelf
I am an endless world below the barrier reefs
Of a vast, uncharted ocean
But no one ever dares to leave the shore
And break the surface.

I am from the towering oak and pine trees
That sway on the old forest’s edge,
Coyotes howling in the shadows
A haunting lamentation

I am from the creaky stairs and floorboards
At the house on Liberty Street,
From the ancient gas heater and its tendrils of flame
That never seemed to be quite hot enough

I am from the sound of my father’s voice
Heavy with sleep as he whispers to us
A late night bedtime story,
Scaring away the monsters under our beds

I am from Sunday mornings
Bursting with rays of golden light and
Filtering through glimmering church windows
Lingering on familiar faces

I am from ‘make good choices’
'Be a peacemaker’
‘You are greatness’ and
‘Oiaue!’

I am from the scent of Mom’s cookies
Chocolate chip and butterscotch
Melting away winters and
Warming cold hearts

I am from acrylic paint,
Graphite, ink and canvas
From smudged hands, stained clothes,
And a sketchbook full of scribblings

I am from the crisp chill of autumn
In the mountains of Vermont,
Staring into a sea of stars
As dazzling sparks float skyward in the distance

I am from the cool sea breeze
And the salty mist over the water
Waves crashing fiercely in the haze
Of Newport’s rocky shores

I am from the quiet peace
That can only come from the words
“I love you” and the warm embrace
That often follows

I am from endless words
Written with shaking, ink-stained hands
On crumpled bone white paper
Hoping to be good enough to keep

I am from weak muscles and fragile bones
From hesitant first steps and training wheels
From stubborn no’s and penitent yes’s
From late nights and shadowy eyes

I am from the past
I am from the present
I am from the trembling, changing
Pathway to my future

I am from this house
This family and
This home

She was a child once.
Eyes wide and sparkling with hopes and dreams untarnished.
An entire future stretching out before her.
She saw the world through a kaleidoscope,
A beautiful mess of endless neon colors,
Untouched by darkness and disappointment.
Pain was temporary; A scraped knee, a paper-cut.
Band-aids could heal every injury.

Her smile was a permanent fixture of sincerity,
Radiating happiness. A gaze full of inquisitive wonder.
When she lay her head down at night,
Her chest was not heavy with worries and cares.
Her mind was not filled with the ghosts of her past.
Sleep came easily, a quilt of comforting warmth enveloping her,
Sweeping her away to the land of dreams.

Blissful in her ignorance she lived, unaware that one day,
The monsters under her bed would make a home inside her head.
That her heart would fracture and die.
That the world she had known was a lie.
She wasted all her wishes wanting to be older,
Age was overrated, but nobody told her.

At 8 she was so innocent, at 10 she was just fine,
13 was disillusionment, the start of her decline.
At 15 she was in High School, they told her, "be mature".  
Society screamed conformity, now she was insecure.
At 16 she was lonely, desperation took its hold.
Love slipped through her fingers like drops of liquid gold.
Now, at 17, she's stuck in a recession.
She thought the therapy had dispelled her depression.

She looks in the mirror and despises her reflection,
She is bent, bruised and broken, a mess of imperfection.
Past mistakes, her tormenters, they tear her apart.
Her body, a cage, imprisons her heart.
Each breath is a burden as she lay in bed.
She can't sleep at night, theres a war inside her head.

No one ever told her the price of growing older.
They never said she'd have
A crushing weight put on her shoulders.
Suffocating in this life, poisoned at her core,
Once she was a child,
A child she is no more.