Impurites In Silence Poem by Monica O'Connor

Silence is not a virtue, it's a burden.
The magnitudes of pain are never too great
when the world is silent.
It causes the rise of bile in my throat,
my eyes to narrow into slits.
I need you to take your limited,
underdeveloped word choice far away from me.
This is my necessity.
But afterwards, I'll only be left with my impure,
over analyzing voice in my head,
and thoughts which I need
far away
from
me.