Posted in Poetry


Girls are quiet, even when mad

Girls put their head downs, especially when they don’t agree.

If someone is talking, agree.

When everyone’s quiet, stay still.


Girls are quiet and sweet,

Girls are quiet.

They don’t disagree with others,

They know who their betters are.

Girls don’t know better.


I remember I was a Quiet Girl.

I remember when I grew up and I realized Quiet Girl was tired.

Quiet Girl was tired of being Quiet.

Quiet girl couldn’t breathe.

Quiet girl tripped on her own hair,

Quiet girl could run on tears for days.


And then Quiet Girl realized she could run.

So she did.


Quiet Girl ran toward the exit of her bubble,

She was mangled and hurt

But she wasn’t quiet.

She had glass for hands and hair short

‘like a boy’.

The rest she left behind in the prison.


Glass Girl had a mirror,

And she was pretty,

And she thought that was stupid.


Glass girl cowered from mirrors,

Glass girl was ‘not like the other girls’

Even though she was,

Even though that’s everything she needed to be,

A Girl.


Glass Girl, was quiet

But not like Quiet Girl.

Her silence was a defiance; a sentence in its own.

Glass Girl was Icy Girl.

Glass Girl was a bitch.


Glass girl was cold hands and sardonic laughter,

But she was also fear,

Fear of others, of being seen, of seeing herself.

Glass Girl couldn’t feel.

Glass Girl felt too much.


So Glass Girl was Quiet,

But she wasn’t Quiet Girl.

She wasn’t like the other girls.


Was she?



She was.




23-year-old writer from Chile. Currently reading, writing, and trying not to lose my mind.

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