Little girl why so silent?

Letter to the reader:

This poem explores identity, faith, and the struggle between external expectations and internal truth. The speaker wrestles with being shaped by the world yet ultimately finds security in God's hands. While society tries to define, mold, and silence, true identity is known only to Jesus. In a world that seeks to box her in, her silence becomes her strength—her power lies in being understood by the One who matters most.

Is it the deafening of crickets 

eroding your ears 

as the ocean wave hits the sand, 

as the sandpaper scratches 

of the imperfections on 

the slab of wood 

He holds in His hands, 

molds like clay 

as He is the potter 

the bible says.

The one whose wisdom 

confuses owls 

& birds around 

scatter as my loved one 

shies from the feathers 

for he is afraid of 

the two feet, 

two winged

beaked & beady eyed 

creatures 

that share the pavement.

Pitter patter, 

her little feet dance, 

air beneath them, 

as they lift, 

as they fall, 

as she is fearless in her movements.

The rain drops fall from the sky, 

from the earth, 

she laughs as the water 

molds the fabric to her body, 

almost like clay, 

her dress, 

her skin.

It sticks. 

Sticking clothing reminds her 

of the cool water on the lake, 

the sun glistening on the surface 

as the campers have not yet arrived,

the peacefulness 

slowly disappears 

as wheels turn on gravel, 

the sound of children 

overtake her ears.

The water pierced, 

its surface moves, 

The waves around 

swallow those 

who dare go down the waterslide. 

Chosen, 

but the valleys seem to linger, 

Chosen, but not asked to be, 

for the peaceful ignorance 

of the world is gazed upon 

with rose tinted glasses. 

Chosen, 

The valley,

The camp. 

Let it be.

For this is me, 

but who can be for I do not see, 

nor can the key open me 

I see for I am not able. 

For the light, 

its dark,

it is blinding, 

it is more than I can handle, 

Falling.

 In love?

 Oh yes,

 Falling,

 In awe, 

Oh yes.

 Falling out of safety, 

ya damn straight.

Little girl, why so silent?

Eyes so large 

the cow's reflection in the saucer 

moves, 

The sheep, 

counted 

but not recognised 

like prisoners in a cell, 

identity stripped. 

Shaven heads, 

yellow soap, 

& the creativity 

to turn toothbrushes into weapons.

Tongues more deadly than guns, 

bullets shot, 

shells spinning in the air. 

They crack under my feet 

as I crush them in the sand. 

Sand so white, 

the lens reflects the water, 

the image of perfection, 

if only they weren't in the foreground.

Images taken, 

memories made, 

cameras holding SD cards filled,

like a lost souvenir ,

Liam Neeson pursuing Maggie Grace 

alike the danger of opening this file. 

But what do you do when the chapter ends? 

Pages filled, 

words in ink. 

Ink surrounds my body, 

words carved into skin 

just as the creator carves toi whakairo. 

Hands holding toki, 

skilled hands 

perfecting every stroke

creating taunga from bone 

taken from His creation. 

Sand that I feel under my feet 

created from dust, 

his hands dictate my bones.

Hands that hold the world, 

that hold me. 

Right hand yellow,  

left foot green. 

I twist and turn, 

unable to stop,

paralyzed. 

My voice. 

Gone. 

Identified yet never understood, 

a world that smiles 

as its teeth shimmers in the sun, 

in the light, 

and the circle around covers, 

the warmth of the beam 

melts down your exterior 

and you mold, 

you soften 

the rays are warm, 

eyes closed, 

transported you 

feel the heat of the Bali sun, 

the smell of fresh flowers

fills your nose, 

the music & clanging of glasses.

The teeth get whiter, 

the skin tighter,

the glimmer in your eyes, 

somehow not any brighter.

Little girl, why so silent?

Consumption overload, 

Days Of Our Lives would be impressed 

for the acting in this hospital 

really did come from a cereal box.

Cereal, 

Nesquik, 

sugar, 

and like cocaine the addiction begins. 

White powder, 

teaspoons in cups, 

milligrams on keys. 

The addiction, 

The need for more. 

Your body cries,

looks of disbelief, 

shock as they consume it. 

As they gawk 

and like geese flock, 

feathers, 

wings, 

feet webbed 

Charlotte is impressed. 

Lifestyles of the rich and famous, 

anthems played. 

Did you miss the trend? 

Or is healthy no longer a slay.

Little girl, why so silent?

Alarms set, 

sweat beads drop, 

the pearls tighten around my neck, 

shape changes, 

muscle growth begins. 

80, 

100, 

200

… and plato.

Demons cry 

as perseverance wins, 

songs play, 

Andy Mineo edges up the list. 

Who am I? 

Did this make sense?

Did I touch on enough? 

Did I delve just enough…. 

for you to only grasp the surface? 

Did I leave you wandering, 

confused or did you get the links? 

Who am I? 

I am a princess of the king 

& not one of you can silence this little girl.

But me, 

I can, 

I can keep her quiet, 

I can box her, 

shape her, 

mold her, 

play with her 

and like Barbie dress her up 

into any character she wishes to be, 

a shoe, 

a hat, 

a nip, 

a tuck, 

anything to fulfill the role, 

no one really needs her to be more than a doll, 

a character, 

Main? 

Never, 

just enough to add intrigue 

to their own stories.

Little girl, why so silent?

Because who I am is between

me and Jesus, 

who I am is 

ever changing, 

ever growing, 

ever evolving 

and ever angry at the boxes, 

Outfits,

perceptions placed, 

ever alone, 

ever without a home,

for my kingdom is above me, 

it is not my ignorance that keeps me dumb, 

but my king for he knows my story, 

to him I am a main character, 

But for you? 

I will always be hidden.

Little girl, your silence is your power, who am I? 

Only Jesus knows.