The Quiet Harm
It’s in the space between the words,
The smiles that never quite reach eyes,
A whisper carried on the wind,
Yet silencing like winter skies.
It’s in the glance, the sideways stare,
A joke that cuts too deep to heal,
The questions asked with veiled intent,
Yet claiming, “It’s not a big deal.”
It’s in the doors that never open,
The shadows where we learn to shrink,
A history we can’t erase,
Yet in its wake, we're forced to sink.
It’s in the "harmless" things they say,
The judgments brushed beneath the rug,
Pretending not to see the cracks,
Yet in the cracks, they plant the dug.
For subtle wounds still leave their scars,
And quiet hate is still the same—
It whispers softly, but it strikes,
Still drenched in bitter, burning shame.
No matter how the words are dressed,
The meaning doesn't shift or bend,
For bigotry—no matter how soft—
Is still a storm that doesn’t end.
@WhiteRose I would like to give propterty attribution, if I quote this. Who is the source?
@ChrisPierson You can just use "unknown" for me—I’m not too keen on sharing my real name.
@WhiteRose Thanks for getting back to me on this. It's beautiful.