By Donna

Wisdom of the baby
is seldom ever heard
as the social Pantomime stage is prepared
to create a sustaining silent world.

Simplicity---my true essence---
a natural state.
Outspokenness contradicts that sense,
a risky role, never to undertake.

Truth lies dormant among jargon
rendered in verbal intercourse.
Fear grabs hold
to which there is little recourse.

Chatter for unavoidable pleasantries
is like a rhythmic-less dance,
where solace is found often in silent defiance.

Your move; my move; no move,
a showdown of fate.
I give; you get
to release the impeding stalemate.

Reciprocity of this life can enslave
that which is not uttered
leading to internal rage.

So when I carefully balance onto the soapbox,
it is not to deliver
a self-indulgent soliloquy,

but rather to let out suppressed whispers
locked away inside of me.

Deaf ears rich in tradition
only hear what is “suppose to be”
and refuses to co-exist
with challenges that
twist those familiar theories.

In your judgment
you have labeled me.
In your misunderstanding
you have criticized me.
I still want to be loved,
but it is your reaction
that have silenced me.

How I long to live
within the confines of which is not spoken,
to calm good spirits carelessly offended,
to mend trust long since broken,
to embrace hearts finally awoken

and
to love in spite of love’s distortion.
Hear me.