A woman’s innate poison

Is it better to speak or to die?

Well to speak is to make an enemy of my voice;
To run when I hear it crashing like a wave,
To hide when I see it creep in like a cat,
To freeze when I feel I can’t control it.

To speak is to hear August breeze in;
To smell the sickly air of a cold winter,
To hear my voice crackle like fire as it is bruised;
Rusty, raspy, and irrelevant.

To speak is to be silenced.
To speak is to make an effort
To paint a perfect painting of my thoughts,
To mix the perfect shades of blue,
and draw a perfectly shaped sphere,
All to pour my feelings out with the perfect paintbrush that is my voice
And to be told I’ve painted something perfectly stupid.

To speak is to hear the soft rustling of my voice,
As I count my fingers under my breath,
Because I really think I talked too much,
I really think my voice betrayed me
I really think it made me look dumb
I really think it made a fool of me
I really think I should start to count.

To speak is to put venom into my arm with my own teeth,
For as a woman, my voice is a blue viper.
So to speak with a voice that slowly kills,
Is to die a little at each word I say,
And I’ve always feared a slow death,
So I’d rather die before I dare to talk.

To speak or to die?
To die.

By Maria Carolina Carvalho

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