Quiet

by Elizabeth   Oct 7, 2017


Abuse is quiet.
It's a quiet thing.
And the way it sticks around is quiet, too.
It slips under the skin
And lives there,
Where the best parts of you used to be.
And suddenly there's less room for you inside
So you hide, sacrificing more and more of you to stay hidden,
To accommodate the hate.
And the hate inside you doesn't know who to turn on-
You turn on yourself.
You look in the mirror
And ask yourself how it ever got to this.
Then later,
You stop being able to look in the mirror,
Flinch at glimpses of yourself out of your own eyes.
Eventually it isn't even the hate you're hiding from anymore,
You're hiding from yourself.
"I never meant for things to go this far"
You say,
And it sounds shakey and weak.
The sound of your own voice-
It's pathetic and even you know it.
And you know that the best of intentions
Mean nothing in the place where you are now.
Because intentions won't save you.

No one will save you.
It's either not their business or not their priority.
"they don't hear and they don't want to hear"
And you don't want them to see you here
Like this.
So you hide the bruises and the scars and you try to smile.
You swallow your frown and tell them you're just tired.
You shut your mouth and hope it's over soon.
"I had meant to be so much more than this"
You say,
But you no longer believe in it.
Because women don't do those things.
"Women are homemakers."
And like that the chaos of the outside world dies out in your ears.
"Women don't socialize-"
The echos of your friends' laughter recedes down hallways and sidewalks.
"Women don't need their families."
There's nothing easy about your family giving up on you.
And when their voices finally fade from your side-
That quiet hurts most of all.

    report violation
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  • 6 years ago

    by Milo

    There's nothing easy about your family giving up on you. 
    And when their voices finally fade from your side-
    That quiet hurts most of all.

    I don't even know where to start. This is grossly underrated and I feel this poem should have been nominated and won a contest a long time ago if that's any constellation to the lack of those hearts and likes next to your poem. This is strangely relatable despite the gender differences. I think it's because I've been a witness to the different physical and mental abuse that was committed to my sisters and my best friend that I see their pain as clear as I did so many years ago. You can see the moment when hope literally drains out of someone. You can feel it in their aura, you can see it in their eyes when the abuse takes its toll. Innocence dies and oozes to nothingness like a plant dying and eventually loses all its color. Colorless in a form of quietness, the sad unrelatable moment when the person gives up in a away that nobody sees it in time to help. Family members are worn down, not even the doctors or the therapists, nor the counselors or the friends nearby can help when innocence dies. I'm afraid of the quietness. I don't want to witness anything like that again. That's when you see friends make terrible mistakes, they get into drugs they go to jail. You witness the self destruction unfolds, they don't care about their body, they care less for authority figures and rules. They end up getting kicked out of the family and eventually relapse and fight and struggle every step of the way. They don't care about the consequences anymore because to them, the greatest consequence has already happened to them; they lose themselves along the way thats irreversible in nature. They lose their heart and soul. Reminds me of Jesus of Suburbia by green day, Home is where your heart is. But what happens when you no longer have a home? What happens when the thing in your chest is so alien and so strange to you that you can't relate to yourself or the people around you. You end up packing your bags and leave love and innocence and anything and everything that made your identity behind. I saw that shit again and again in foster brothers and sisters, in strangers I hardly know anymore because I can't relate to something so strange and so unfamiliar (lost of heart and soul.) You get calls from different correction facilities over the years and the sad thing is that you end up forgetting to add money to the phone account. I stop picking up the phone and they stop calling. Those lost souls from years and years of trauma and abuse and I only exists in memories of a time when there were no good and happy memories to remember in the first place. Probably the saddest fcuking thing I read in a long time the more I think about this poem.

    Well tonight, Elizabeth you have convinced me, despite my terrible responses and lack of commenting, You made me a believer. I'm happy to have read your poems and I hope you write more in the future. Pretty soon all your poems will be on my favorite list, I'm going to have to start un-favorite your stuff to make room hahaha. Thank you.

  • 7 years ago

    by Brenda

    Wow, this was a hard write to read. It's beautifully done, just the content, unfortunately happens too often. I'm so sadden to think so many woman endure this every day. Sending strength your way- I'm sorry, I feel as if I'm babbling. Your poem hit me at the core-

  • 7 years ago

    by Em

    Goodness this hit a cord with me and rally hard to

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