Disturbed (Open)

did they poison my food? is it 'cause i'm a girl?
if i puked up some sonnets, would you call me a miracle?
i'm gonna go where my urge leads no more
swallowed, waist-deep, in the gore of the forest

In the depth of the silence is when I can speak best. (I am like the stars in that I shine brightest in the dark, and sometimes I wonder if maybe my voice will come when people stop trying to be heard and the lack of noise is deafening.) Sometimes I like to pretend that it is my choice to remain voiceless, and when the time comes and my words are needed they will flow from my lips like lyrics, synchronizing all I've ever known into sentences, paragraphs, speeches. And my voice would be beautiful, as pure as the heart of a star and beating with the same beautiful light.

When children are little their parents tell them to hush, but mine never had to. Maybe this is why I am able to follow the girl with the blue skirt so easily, stepping in her footprints like a ghost of a girl. She never notices me. Most people don't. It's why they call me Mouse - because I am small and quiet and insignificant, and when I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time, I am a pest. Silence is not just in my throat and my mouth. It is woven into my very soul with ethereal strands, and perhaps that it why I gravitate toward those who speak the loudest. Opposites attract, right? Or at least, that's what I've been told. And that is why I follow the girl.

Her house is one of violence. I can tell the second she closes the door behind her. My own parents have never hit me - they think I'm delicate because I'm already partially broken, and maybe they're right - but solitude and silence have given me the power to recognize these kinds of things. When the sound of fighting dies down, I stand there, uncertain of what to do. I'm quiet and awkward and my social development is stunted. But then I see a silhouette in the window and I do the only thing I can think of. Picking of a stone, I toss it. It hits the pane with a small tapping sound. I throw a few more, allowing the stones to tap out my message.

Will you talk to me? Please?

catch a, catch a, catch a, catch a falling star
but wash your hands of it
catch a, catch a, catch a, catch a falling star
because you can't hold it