Quiet is a scream heard only by you,    
hoarse and unintelligible anguish,      
impacting sound-proof self-protection,      
thus no one reacts or responds,      
for they hear nothing.      
Quiet is words spoken by others,      
dictated as truth to which you acquiesce,      
written scripts pouring so-called heart,      
when not a breath of these volumes      
were a creation of your voice.      
Quiet is an eternal mind-war,      
your inner sanctum's walls clawed to pulp,      
stinging familiar with the usual violence,      
never destined to fully heal, but      
still haphazardly bandaged.      
Quiet is betrayal to our sacred sound,      
the primal part of our beings,      
crying into the silent vortex, piercing,      
begging for torrential validation      
to cleanse stagnated silence.      
Quiet and quieter you fall,      
muting your own suffering,      
lest you suffer others.      
Quietly, you absorb    
Quietly, you accept    
Quietly, you reflect      
Quietly, you burn      
Quietly, you wither      
Quietly, you die    
Quiet is peace,      
or so you thought, but  
Quiet only attracts unrest.      
Written by MgAl
Author's Note
As a child, I grew up with crippling anxiety and shyness. The shyness has more or less subsided, but my anxiety still stays with me in my adulthood. Keeping quiet was always my defense mechanism, my self-protection when any perceived conflicts arose. But it was in staying quiet that the biggest conflicts usually arose, as they were always within myself about the words I didn't speak when I should have.
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