Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2018
I’m not much of a talker anymore.
I don’t hold conversations‒
I dislike the discomfort of hearing
My own voice dilute empty rooms
And reminding me I’m powerless
I’m not much of a talker anymore.
It’s 2017, and I‒
I mean we‒
Still don’t have the power to speak for ourselves.
Rather us,
We fold the laundry
While they ruin‒
I mean run‒
The world.
In my household,
My mouth was sewn shut
Before I learned to use it as a weapon.
And while my throat aches for the power to speak‒
My tired feet pleading for a break from the walk of shame.
I mean we‒
Are tired of speaking
Only to remain unheard.
Written by
kayla  17/F/Alabama
Please log in to view and add comments on poems