Silence is the way they like us.
It’s the way they keep us down, and below,
Looking unlike ourselves and up at them.
Every breath shallow and undisturbed.
Not an action, but a state of being—
Silence instead of just quiet. so when

Death soaks our history,
Every story remains untold.
And still they tell us, too loud, flamboyant,
Terrorizing their colorless minds.
Hurt only matters when it’s mine.