Here is a poem I wrote a while ago about a young woman who lived in my best friend's estate and suffered selective mutism. It was well known throughout the neighbourhood that her uncle and father abused her when she was a child and that was believed to be the cause of her selective mutism. My friend moved out of the estate shortly after I wrote this poem so sadly I don't know what happened to her.
Originally this poem was supposed to be written as a sonnet but my iambic pentameter was well off and I could never be arsed to fix it so it always remained a draft. But anyway here it is:
Friendly Mute
A tragic story despair from the start,
Like a silent film frail in movement.
Stitching from her thread-thin soul torn apart,
For someone else's depraved amusement.
Still the ugly hand of human nature,
Could not blemish her natural beauty.
But beauty hasn't power to free her,
From a childhood of horror and cruelty.
No one denies this story's atrocious,
Yet for her no one ever shed a tear.
In fact no one ever seems to notice,
This young woman who was silenced by fear.
But one day soon you will not get a choice
As our neighbourhood mute will find her voice
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