A Quiet Thing

Note from the Writer: I'm going to do this introverted thought experiment of a poem-a-day. Forgive me if the drafts come out a bit lame, but know that, in good faith, time will turn verses into something a bit more vital. Also - it's been a while. Feels like home to be back. -Yue

Waiting for expiration,
The shelf life of a half-life
carbon-based, carbonated
woman.

Not-yet grown, not-yet known...
Yet wanting to be.
Not-to-be pretty,
Not-to-be seen.

"A quiet thing"
They've called her,
Whispered behind closed door fingertips
Eyebrow curtains shut.

Not a quiet thing.
Home.
She finds it in herself.
A resting place.

Waiting for invigoration,
The body of a life yet lived
carbon-based, carbonated
woman of wonder.

You are not alone.
You are quiet when you want to be,
Screaming when they don't offer space,
Chuckling into corners of pregnant silence--

You.
You know more than they think you do.

You.
You who waits for candlelight
& moon's glow
& fireflies
& the piano keys of cities at sleep.

Quiet is not an insult.
Ugly is their attitude.

Woman:
Be carbonated,
Be full of stars,
Be well; be a well of liquid
                                            hope
                                                    overflowing.

You are a fountain of crystalline glaciers;
Fragile but strong,
Endangered but magnificent,
One of a kind.

A wonder.
Woman.
Truly.