You May Not Speak

"You May Not Speak"

They said,

“You may not speak that way.”

So I folded up my thoughts,

Tucked them behind my teeth,

And learned to nod.

Each word I shaped was weighed,

Measured for its loyalty,

Scrubbed of doubt,

Polished until it gleamed

With someone else’s truth.

I raised my hand—

They lowered it.

I wrote a question—

They crossed it out.

I dreamed aloud—

They turned the volume down.

The silence wasn’t peace.

It was a muzzle,

Soft as velvet,

Tight as steel.

And still,

Inside the hush,

A voice kept knocking—

Not loud,

But steady.

Not safe,

But mine.