I want the silence that isn’t.
The quiet of the outdoors.
Not the closed doors, no radio,
quiet footsteps on the stairs.
Not being able to tell who
it was by their unique creaks.
Or needing to learn which floorboards
would betray your own small steps.
I want the silence that sings, and
the quiet that soothes and heals.
Not the kind that laughs and holds you
down as it tears out your voice.
Not the can’t get words out, can’t feel
feelings, can’t feel seen or heard.
Or needing to unlearn all the
ways I forgot my own sounds.
I want the silence that isn’t
control, isn’t fear or shame.
The quiet and the calm in those
moments when the ocean roars.
Or the unexpected warmth of
a strong wind on a dark night.
I want the silence that seeds growth,
but understands loss,
and loves.
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