Her hair was over her eyes
And her arms were always folded.
Large enough for an entire table, it seemed,
Her aura surrounding her a gentle poison.
It’s not that she was bullied,
It’s just that nobody talked to her.
And once someone would try,
She’d never have the strength to answer.
But everyone has their secret talents.
Hers was breathtaking.
And one day, in the school choir,
She knew these notes were what she was seeking.
Her hand quivered above everyone’s heads
And the director’s eyes landed on her.
His fingertip hit the starting note,
And she spoke, in a quivering croak,
“Whenever you are ready, sir.”
Her vocal chords whispered, vibrated, stretched
Until her voice was gone.
She made the floorboards shake
And made this song
her song.
His hands pounded the ivory
As her heart thumped to his beat.
His mind was turning,
Her stomach was churning.
She didn’t know what to make of his shown teeth.
And he shook his head no,
Because she was too quiet.
He spoke, “There are those who can sing,
But those who will break the silence.”
Her heart sank through her chest
And melted into the floorboards.
She retreated back into her hole once again,
And sang
No
More.