Jeanne CasperThe silence is heavy, not empty—full of storms you can’t see. I move through my days like glass, reflecting expectations, holding my tremors inside.
You don’t know what is behind my eyes, or anyone’s, for that matter. So why do you expect me to be the same?
They want a version of me that folds neatly, predictable, like a favorite song you can hum without fear.
One crack in the melody, and suddenly I am a stranger— labeled unstable, called “crazy,” for living in real time, not on their schedule.
In getting to know me, you want honesty—only on the surface. My depth is twenty thousand leagues under sea.
My height goes beyond the atmosphere. If Pandora’s box is what you avoid— please, tell me why.
They do not hear the twists, the turns, the hidden currents beneath my calm. They do not see the courage it takes to sit with myself when the world does not understand.
What did that do to you? Maybe I want to hear you too. Maybe I don’t understand your logic.
But if we are here, talking about this, and what will best serve the world, can you just say it plainly— why you’re rejecting me?
I get that I can be a lot. Instead of excuses, give me feedback.
Or are you afraid of the depth, the storms, the unseen? Or do you simply not want to try?
I will not shrink. I will not simplify.
I will not shrink. I will not simplify.
My silence is not emptiness— it is the weight of everything you cannot see.
I am here, in the quiet, carrying my storms in my chest, learning that the mind is not a story to be neatly summarized but a river, deep and alive, moving in ways that do not require permission.
So I speak softly, not for them, but for the echo that knows me even in my silences.
And when the music shifts, I can rise, graceful, cautious— but maybe I will stay, this partner, this dance, rooted in the rhythm that does not demand I wander.