“Forget Stardust-you are iron. Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid. When you bleed, you reek of rust. It is iron that fills your heart and sits in your veins. And what is iron, really, unless it’s forged? You are iron. And you are strong.”(http://houseangelos.co.vu/tagged/bentobride!poetry)
I’ve always been a quiet girl. I don’t make a lot of noise. I’m not loud, or obnoxious, or even noticeable half the time. I am quiet, and kind, and keep to myself. Even when dressed in bold, loud colors, I am quiet. I sit in corners of coffee shops and read my books and scroll through my phone, quietly, alone.
I’m usually so quiet that I don’t even speak up for myself. I sit back and take things that I know I shouldn’t, simply because speaking up about them is too much work. My voicebox isn’t used to the vibrations that make the word “no” come out of my mouth, so it is strange and does not know what to do when I want to say so, and so I say “yes” or “okay” or “nevermind” instead, because those are all too familiar. I will say nothing as people hurt me, and tend to my wounds later, on my own time, without letting it be known that I am wounded at all.
I grew up in a house with domestic violence and learned that it was easier to hide and do nothing then it was to get in the middle and scream for them to stop. It was simpler to grab my sisters and tell them to “hang out” in my room with me and turn my music all the way up so they couldn’t hear the screaming than it was to explain to them what was going on. It was understood that we didn’t speak of it outside the family unless mom was the one doing the talking, getting help. Hiding away and shutting my mouth was less painful then getting in the middle and being thrown into the wall.
I was conditioned to be quiet, on top of my already timid nature. So much so that it took 4 years before I would stop letting a boy continually break my heart, because it took me that long to speak up and say “No. No more.” and walk away.
That is very much what the world teaches girls as we grow. Sit down. Shut up. Be pretty and quiet and timid and silent.
I was born with the last name Wolfe. I never realized how much that would grow to mean to me as I got older. Wolfe. Wolf. I am a wolf. I tend my own wounds. I protected my sisters, like a wolf protecting it’s cubs. I fixed my own broken heart. I was the one up at the midnight hours praying to God to make the pain stop. I was the one who told mom to get help because it wasn’t right. I am a fighter. I am quiet, but I am mighty.
My quietness used to hinder me, but as a wolf would, I learned to use to my advantage. Yes, I am quiet. Please, think me timid. Think me small, think me weak. You are wrong. But I will not correct you, until you cross the invisible line between quiet girl and waiting wolf. I will attack, I will destroy, I will not stand by helplessly. I will be cunning, I will be clever, and you will not expect it, because I am quiet and kind and do not let you see the wolf waiting just below the surface.
I am quiet, but I am mighty.