Identity

There's fear in places it doesn't belong.

I wonder why that is?

The softest spoken sound can inspire terror- shivers, like knives on the toes of ballerinas, carving their way up my spine, stopping at my throat, silencing my voice with the threat of reality- don't scream, they'll hear you

I smile in half beats, nod when it's correct, adding music to my motions to keep rhythm with what's expected

All the while, the shivers prickle in my lungs, threatening to exhale my truth

don't scream, they'll know who you are

Is there anything more terrifying than being known?