This is Me

High school is different,
I was once told.
But it is not,
or was not,
not for me.

University is different,
said my favourite teacher.
But it is not,
not for me.

Every classroom is split, into types of kids.
Popular, sporty, silent,
I am in the last group.

Silence has built a wall around me,
almost like a barricade.

Silence has etched itself in my shadow,
for as long as I can remember.

Speak up, dear
participate, come on.
Let’s ask the lady in pink,
what do you think?

I…err…ummm…
my silence is broken.
I am not too sure,
my silence is restored.

I hesitate in my seat,
eyeing the clock.
20 mins, 30 seconds,
I can do this.

At home,
normalcy welcomes me.
I am wrapped safely,
around the comfort of my being.

Family and friends beckon,
the safety belt is intact.
Laughter fills my ears,
chatter drowns my silence.

Night dawns upon us,
my hands clutch a book.
With every word I find solace,
with every word the belt tightens.

The cold breeze acts like a lullaby,
and I soon fall into a slumber.
Dreams are played,
as the night passes.

My mamma once said to me,
dear, you should speak more.
I wanted to say, no mamma,
I am my silence.

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