Your silence is a cover-up.
It’s a conspiracy between you and the way you think people see you.
Your silence is a ruse.
It’s a simple means of getting from here to there.
Avoiding an accident.
Your silence is a hushed conversation between you and yourself.
It’s a promise.
It’s a plan in the making.
It’s a vendetta.
Your silence is silent until it’s loud.
And then BOOM.
Destruction.
Why are you silent in the face of men who care not if you smile or frown, stay or go, live or die?
Why is your silence, then, in front of them, so valuable? Such a commodity?
Why are you loud in the face of children whose only desires lie in pleasing you?
Why is your silence, then, in front of them, so rare? Out of stock?
Stuck deep down in your throat are all the things you want to say
But you are silent
Anger rages like a river, swirling whirlpools in your throat you swallow.
Until a tidal wave of release
Drowns the ones you love.
