Omertà 3

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part III

Silence is seen as a treacherous doubled-edged sword in my tumultuous mind. I never knew what silence meant in my daily life. Since a little girl, I have watched my family delve into anger and confusion over money and disagreement. I have seen people stab me in the back as I grow older, letting emotion cover every fiber of my being as i’m lost in my own sense of noise. I have seen those that don’t know one true fact about me, talk down about my hopes and dreams. It floods my mind in waves. For when I heard conversation behind my back, I knew it was words in which would cover me in blood and agony.  I was finally cleansed. I forgot about those that used words to hurt each other, or hurt me. I began to find silence was spectacular. I didn’t have to deal with the pain of words shattering me into a million pieces. Like a mirror that disregarded the image in which I truly was. Deep down, you can’t change the words people use to hurt others. That is why I chose silence. It is a miraculous thing. However, here I am. I am here using words to mesh together fragments in which flaunt my impeccable soul. But there is one difference, I use my words for good. Not to hurt others. How amazing would it be if others did the same.

Silence is

music to a harried mother’s ears,
a precious jewel

among the wreckage of cacophony,
an answered prayer,
a cursed sting,
a reminder of emptiness,
a flash of wisdom,
an echo haunting
the heart of a barren woman.

It’s not lying though. It’s just not telling.

Do you ever think that maybe you shouldn’t say this?

It must be so maddening to keep silent about it. You tell her but you don’t.

There are several types of silences. The deafening silence. The dreaded silence. The silent reverie. A thoughtful silence. And then there’s silence. The type of silence that feels enormous in your throat. Secrets lodged deep and you don’t want to keep them any more but you remain biting your lip, your legs cross, holding one hand with the other because this type of silence is loud.

True strength is quiet. You admire her so much because she doesn’t have to say anything, in the end she is right there. For a long time, words had no effect. You silently hold yourself together in front of her and just feel the silence.

“You know I thought he was going to kill you?”

You heard her say but no more feeling sorry for the deaf that go mute. You heard yourself that it isn’t like that any more and there is nothing to worry about. Followed by a silence that clearly spoke volumes. It was her vibrations. I wish you hadn’t stayed.

And you learned a valuable lesson about not telling people anything, because no one can save you but yourself.

©️ The Literati Mafia – 2018

A collaboration of Mafia members Fighting the dying light, The Melancholy Spitfire, Caribou Crossings, Chelarose, (re)imagining the mundane, My Bleeding Words, A Writer’s Soul, Pretty Kool Dame, The Life of a Dreamer, The Pretty Poems

4 Comments Add yours

  1. hupsutupsu says:

    Reblogged this on (re)imagining the mundane and commented:

    so many types of silence. but the Literati Mafia has its omertà…this is part the third of three, enjoy!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. the pretty poems says:

    Reblogged this on The Pretty Poems and commented:
    enjoy part 3 of “Silence”, a collab with 9 poets where we answer the question “What does silence mean to you?” Let me know in the comments I love reading everyone’s responses.

    Liked by 1 person

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