I learned to cry silently
To fear making sounds when I walked
So much of me is desperate
Not to disturb the peace
I suppose that’s the child in me

I grew up bitter and calloused
Keeping sharp edges around conversation
Because if I spoke harshly enough,
If I spoke concisely enough,
It would pierce the miasma around me

They told me not to take up space
That my thoughts didn’t matter
And so I learned to keep to myself
It hurt far less than rejection