Somewhat Silent

I’ve been cleaning my hard drive up a bit, and came across some old writing. The poem below is from around 2001-2002ish, most likely. I thought it was appropriate to post here.

Edges

On the edge of a conversation,
I can hear the words, just barely
Quiet whispered mumbling
the sound a waterfall makes,
or the way a bird warbles,
not a language at all,
but a disjointed sound..

I’m lonely,
like I’m standing at the edge of cliff
on a dead world
where I’m the only one breathing,
and where the wind is the only sound,
as it howls across a barren plain
and whistles through the rocks.

I’m quiet,
Like the ’savage’ kidnapped from his homeland
put on display for people to look at, to feel sorry for,
or to ignore in their political correctness.
In my silence, I trace the corners of my glass cage,
my fingers feel for cracks-
holes that I can press my ear against, to listen..

I’m masquerading,
like I belong, laughing at the sound of laughter,
at words I don’t understand,
throwing an ‘alert’ look into my eyes,
I move my head back and forth
like I’m understanding the conversation,
like I’m understanding every word.

I’m trying,
This quiet creature in the corner isn’t me,
I’m the one who’s on top of everything,
furiously debating and joking,
fingers flying as I talk with several people
in a language I can understand.

I’m watching,
as you talk, as you joke, and laugh,
your mouth moving too fast for me to follow,
I smile because I see you smile,
and something inside lies to me and says
that if I pretend I understand,
I’ll be less lonely on the edge of the conversation.