She stays silent, not wanting to disrupt the harmony;
Letting her wounds quietly scab underneath the skin cared for by the
chemicals of societal pressure,
She stays silent, ashamed to sing the lyrics of her distasteful ballad out
Wishing Sigmund Freud was right about traumatic memories being
suppressed as she tries so hard to push them under ground,
She stays silent, simply because she has an uninterested audience;
Turning her unspoken words into feigned ignorance instead.
Her silence doesn't reflect her weakness,
Only the way that society behaves like an unrealistic teacher hushing his
students at Lunch Break.
But her silence is heard.
Every withheld sob rages a storm of tears.
Each forced plastic surgery slightly weakens the effect of the anesthesia
injected on the world.
Every discarded dress replaced by full sleeved t-shirts and pants needles a
new stitch in the unspoken cloak of truth.
Every unretorted cat-call whistles her unsaid curses.
Each slit wrist bleeds the words underneath her resignment.
Every rapist put behind bars encourages her voice to break through the phlegm of fear,
And her silence is heard.