speak softly, she doesn't know the language
of excitement, and volume means anger
in a house with thin walls
she'll end up okay, she really will
but it might take a second
the world is bigger and much kinder
than she'd learned it was
and it'll take some getting used to
being handed flowers instead of blades
and everyone she's ever loved
had her lick their love off knives
her silver spoon's tarnished from overuse and
she doesn't know how to trust what
doesn't have a moldy blackness at the center
she just wants to be understood,
to speak the same language,
and once she learns the language,
she'll be unstoppable