I want to stop you
and tell you my story.
I’d like you to know me.
The real me.

My love is for the peaceful,
for the quiet, and for the tender.
I sit back and I listen,
I appreciate, I accept.

I’m often called, “nice”.
Not “gracious” or “powerful” or “strong”.
Yet the niceness is not me-
It’s only the illusion of who I am supposed to be.

My soft voice seldom speaks.
When the voice rises, it quakes.
But only in the rise of voice do you know
the real…the hidden…the essence of me.

At times I sit in the corner,
not wanting to be seen.
It’s not for shyness or modesty.
I stay there, observing…wanting to understand and feel understood.

But don’t mistake my compassion for weakness.
Or my kindness for insincerity.
Don’t assume my silence is agreement.
Or the nod of my head – compliance.

My friendship is fiercely loyal.
My trust not freely given.
It must be earned
and honored.

I’m still learning my soft voice isn’t always agreement,
And it’s okay to question…to ask…to wonder.
There is a time and place to speak-
even with the risk of being known.

My smile hides sadness.
My tears hide the amusement.
I often feel conflicted-
as you must feel for me.

I want to stop you
and tell you my story.
So stop.
Listen.

NMMS