I can’t keep quiet

When someone says the word “quiet” my insides twist

Like a reflex, my body braces itself for derision

With knots that will secure all my vital organs

Like a sailing ship battening down the hatches for an impending storm

Because I’ve never been the quiet one.

I’ve always been told I’m too much

But the boxes they try to put me in have flimsy walls

And all of me - my pain, my laughter, my conviction

Escapes through their cracks and crevices

Sometimes knocking them down altogether

Leaving behind a smoking pile of rubble

I want to use the wood and dirt and rock to make something new

But all they see are broken things

It’s funny how when you’re told you’re too much

You immediately feel like you’re not enough

I used to shrink under the weight of those words

They’d tell me stay on the straight and narrow

But all the roads I’ve driven on are winding

And I never cared much for staying in my lane

So one day I decided that I choose Noise

The bass of my bones cannot be contained by headphones

It must be played through speakers on a concert stage

For the whole city to hear

Because I’m not something to be silenced, to be caged, to be tamed

Not only am I loud, But I’m shiny too

For years, you’ve stood in front of me

Spouting ridicule and disdain

Without realizing that my body is a mirror

And I reflect your own self-loathing

There is a reason why Dylan Thomas said

“Do not go gentle into that good night”

Because a life worth living is one where we burn brightly

Where we rage against the machine we may never escape

But from within which we can SCREAM

So loudly that we shake some pieces loose

Forever changing the way the gears turn

So the world will know we were here.