Quietly, she watched
knowing everyone else knew more
about what she saw
being done to her life.
She’d been told, she’d been shown
that image is everything
So she had the finest one
She shined the brightest
She charmed them all
And it was easy for her to follow the rules:
be good, be the best, be sorry when you’re not.
Because her voice was not her own.
When she spoke, she used the words she’d been taught,
not the ones she came here with.
When she whispered, the voice was hers.
And no one listened
Or maybe they just couldn’t hear her
Still, she learned to be heard in other ways:
I’m sick, I’m out of money, I’m emotional.
Oh, how she loathed herself for using these channels!
But how could she keep up the image,
follow the rules,
and still be heard?
She began to question
all she’d been taught, all she’d been shown.
She realized that they
didn’t really know what they
were doing to her.
They couldn’t explain what she saw.
They used rules to keep her quiet
because their rules kept them that way.
They feared
that if her whisper were audible,
it’d be a scream.
She began to speak louder,
hoping someone, somewhere
would hear.
They weren’t aware of what they heard at first
because they’d never listened for a voice from her before
But it was there.
And now it’s here.