When Quiet Breaks
Poetic Retelling of the Moments a Quiet Child Refused to Stay Silent.
"I used to wear a black hoodie in high school that said “ärgert mich nicht” which means don’t piss me off in German. At least that is what my German teacher told me it meant when I screen printed it on there in my photography class. Think of that sweatshirt as this article’s TL;DR. I was likely wearing it when I went up there in the non-poetical version of events."
You chased and pulled, Teased and poked. Until I screamed so loud your eardrum broke. You stole and lied, Blamed and abused. Until that day you shoved, But I didn’t budge, and your own hand got bruised. You twisted truths, Played trust to your ends. And just as I thought we might make amends, you threw a kick— which I caught with a palm. I held you at an odd angle. While a crowd looked on. I gave you a choice— fight or sit, you wriggled and jerked, and I didn’t loose my grip. Finally, you sat, hard on the bench. And thanks to the crowd, I wasn’t bullied ever since. This crowd was bigger, And didn’t know like them.. But I was no longer the only one suffering your malicious intent. And so, as you stood at that stage playing martyrs for praise. I shook in my seat, fists cocked back in rage. All three of you went, Had stood solemn from the crowd, put on quite the show, got applause, took a bow. And when you each left and returned to your seat I rose from the back of the darkest auditorium seats. I stomped down to the mic shaking with fear, Not from what I would say but from what they all might hear. The teachers watched as I turned to the crowd, a thousand pairs of eyes, group B of our school’s two-thousand-strong pride. I did something then I’d done countless times, but never with such distilled anger waiting with an acid sharp diatribe, and never with the decision to address them all Being completely And utterly My call. I allowed myself to do it, to sense them then. Ground myself down, Feel the soul of my kin. Find their pain, Sense their boredom, frustration. Taste their curiosity, smell their disgust, and hear disdains vibrations. My heart caught, an undercurrent, familiar, hard, and always in range. Our shared desperation for something, God, for anything, to just finally change.
“I think it’s great, That you all came down to say, you believe and want inclusion today. But. It bears pointing out: this is not the first nor the second Or fourth, eighth, or thirteenth time, that the district has sat us down to feed us the, “stop being hateful, homophobic, ableist, racist, asshats” plea line. None of this is new. neither the problems not you. Not even the message of love and acceptance they try to convey. But hey, Those of you who came down before, If you have Somehow Truly been changed over this last half a day? How ‘bout you make it stick this time instead of wiping it from your memory as soon as you feel so inclined? Maybe. To start. Don’t say that you care, but then do nothing once you clique up out there. Quit the gossip. Quit the teasing. Stop with the passive aggressive fights. and for godssake, stop. back-stabbing. everyone who walks out of sight. Can you give that a shot? Is it too much to ask That you try to care for Longer than a bathroom hall pass? How about going a whole month? before one of you jokes about that “Hilarious” hate-crime, You heard about from your folks? We are all tired of listening to this shit, while you pretend to shift from it. We slog through this crap, do the political dance, for the benefit of our donors, —your parents. All so the district doesn’t embarrass Mr. Moneybags’ little offspring piss-ants. You all know who you are. I won’t mark you by name. You do it yourselves with your hateful little games. Now, last time, you’ll remember, I gave you a choice, This time, however, I’m using my voice. I’m throwing you a challenge. And given that ‘performance’ we just saw I think it’s one you can manage, Instead of playing the saint today, and only in here, Go act like you aren’t piss-ant bigots for the rest of the fucking year.” A gasp and whoop went through the hall, I looked to my friends, but the noise had not come from them at all, Their jaws were all slack and each looked …aggrieved? Not one of their expressions looked impressed or pleased; Just embarrassed. Mortified. Almost… bereaved? Irritated, then that I’d need a new crew, I handed the mic back, and up the stairs I flew. I went to my seat ignoring the dramatic high-five attempts, and all the false bravado which just made my jaw clench. Even pre-internet, I found karma farmers vile horrid things. Secondhand valor just shame with fake golden wings. My friends let me scoot past to my seat and sit down, but all that was said was, “you were… different.” With a frown. I sighed and said nothing, zoned out ‘til the end, then snuck to the library, to sit with my only true friends. I waited until no one was left in the hall, no one to give me weird looks or yell more dumbass catcalls. My mask had blown off, my guy friends were too stunned. Until now, they’d just seen me as a quiet recluse. The reject all girl groups had shunned and set loose. They no longer saw a helpless meek pet, they, and everyone else, would see an inferno, just waiting to be set. And that, in my experience, no one ever wants to protect. The librarian caught me before I could leave. And looked at me slyly, winking mischievously. “I knew you had that in you,” she said, “always did.” “Never underestimate the voice that hides in the quiet kid.” I took that to heart, more than I knew. And from that point forward, the voice I’d hidden grew. It burns bridges and builds them, fights for clarity and nuance. It makes sure I don’t falter, I risk and advance. It got me stronger, so I could rely on myself, No need for protection given by anyone else. I keep my voice close, bring it out only when I must. It sits and it waits, collecting details, but never rust. I keep it sharp, and wicked, always ready to wail, Because here’s the truth of this quiet child’s tale— My quiet is as alive, Holding back armies of truth in my head. But. Push me too far and My quiet is dead.