Site icon Your Sister, Kimber

Shh, child.

My pen has been quiet


I think –

It’s my vice,

This thinking.

Pondering and contemplating

Spur into anxiety and worrying.

This running, racing,

My mind, forever testing and retracing

The odds and possibilities,

Going back and replanning,

Missed moments and slips,

Lips closed instead of opened,

Words held, left unspoken.

And these reruns,

They eat time,

Replaying old, forgotten rhymes.

And I sit and wonder why

My pen has kept quiet


But the silence, it’s scary.

It’s loud;

I need to drown it out

With a talk,

And a text,

A call,

A quick check in.

Scroll a bit further,

Play this old tune a bit louder.

Crackle, click, repeat,

Heart, play, reply,

Can’t stand to miss a beat,

Wait –

What do you mean?

Of course I’m still watching!

Because quiet that’s room

For a cry from inside,


No, mend YOUR life.

Numbing a broken piece

Will never mend it.

Like leprosy, this loud,

It drowns out

The still, small cry,

This hurts, let’s see why –

Nah, I’m fine.

I honestly ain’t got time

To even consider why

My pen has been quiet



You say,

On a rare day

When it comes to mind

The length of time

Since I allowed in the quiet.

That pen, you say,

Can whip fire or decay.

Your choice, your voice

Or mine?

Because noise doesn’t equal music,

And words on paper

Don’t mean you’re listening.

I’m not asking for just a margin.

Your edges,

They’re frayed.

Frankly, I deserve the page.

Crisp, clean, and new,

Just like I’ve made you.

But instead I get the edge,

Left overs,

Half tuned-in moments

With background and distractions,

Your own ideas and dreams

And near-sighted plans of action.

They take up the whole page,

You choke me out,

there’s no space.

And you wonder why

I haven’t said much to you

Of late.

Do you ever just listen?

Allow yourself to get quiet.

No more drowning and filling.

I know silence

Appears deafening,

But it’s not.

If you’d like to hear me

Turn down all the racket

And get still.

Get silent.

Close your mouth,

Just for a minute, stop whining,

And listen

To your pen.

Let me do the talking

For just a little bit.

Did you know I answer?

I want to

Chat with my girl.

Who made your mouth?

And your pen –

Why do you even wield it?

Shh, child,

Just be quiet for a minute.

I gave breath, song, voice,

But each came with a choice,

A mystery in the music,

Pause, rest, breathe.

Notes matter,

But sometimes the key

Is found simply in the in-between.

That’s where you’ll hear me.

Give me a blank page

And some silence,

I’ll fill the space.

And maybe you’ll learn to embrace

The quiet that makes

A pen come alive


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