To The Quiet One

I see you.

You walk into the room as quiet as a mouse some say.

You walk into the room clutching your binder against your chest. You actually look quite terrified. I know how that feels. I try and break the ice; make you feel more comfortable in this awkward space with a million personalities.

I feel bad, constantly asking you if you’re okay. Asking you how you are feeling. I remember being in those shoes. I know you’re fucking terrified. I remember being the youngest in the room. I remember very clearly not knowing what the hell I was doing. But I took it. I faked it until I made it.

I see how people treat those that are different. I am sure no one believed I could do it; that I would stick around.

It feels like just yesterday that I was the quiet one.

I know what it is like to be misjudged. For them to take your quietness for weakness.

When asked I am told I was “different”. Different how I ask. “Just different” they reply.

I’m just a girl that would never amount to anything because I am quiet.

Stick to it. Prove them wrong.

I believe in you because I was once you, but no one remembers that.


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