“Be afraid of the quiet ones,”

Was what I was taught,

But how can be afraid,

Of someone I’m not?

 

I was once called quiet,

In the busy and loud sixth grade,

But they just didn’t care enough to listen,

And to talk I was too afraid.

 

But when ninth grade came,

I refused to be silent,

Never taking time to be afraid,

Or wonder what people’s word meant.

 

I was done being quiet,

And done being something I’m not,

I’m not a quiet one,

So don’t believe all you’re taught.

 

I use to seal my lips,

And keep my eyes on the ground,

But now my lips can’t stop,

Making sound.

 

You should be afraid of the quiet ones,

And words they never say,

But you should also be afraid of the talkers,

Because they are going to be famous one day.

 

I am a little bit of both,

And you should fear either,

And let me go just to whisper,

“I use to know her.”