Quiet

I spend every day quieting myself,
an idea my friends and my mom and strangers are probably laughing at.

Dodging “You always have something to say” bouncing between my eardrums

Smothering “You have such a lovely voice” into a whispered memory

Seeing “I don’t think I was always like this” auto-populate in subtitles

My neighbor blasts Radiohead through our walls and into my comfort zone every Saturday,

I have trained my ears and voice to function on dog-level decibels, and call them loud enough

Every step I take in my second floor apartment is like braving shattered glass 

I close doors, drawers and cabinets with the caution of defusing a bomb

Words/thoughts/emotions switched to vibrate

Pulses/heartbeats/sobs set to Do Not Disturb

Handed a gavel dressed as a microphone, 
because I “always” say what’s on “my” mind.

Oops, I was on mute,
asked and answered and shushed in one breath

God forbid I’m really heard,
I don’t think I was always like this.