Dr. Ming’s Note:
Some silences are empty. Others are full of survival, memory, and unspoken weight. This poem came from a moment where stillness wasn’t safety—it was vigilance.
The Quiet Isn’t Empty
It sounds like peace,
but it isn’t.
It’s the kind of silence
that holds its breath
because it learned
too early
that noise meant danger.
This isn’t calm.
It’s scanning for the next sound.
A bootstep. A slam.
A breath too sharp.
It looks like resting—
but the muscles never forgot
what happened last time
they relaxed.
So don’t call it lazy.
Don’t call it stillness.
Call it
survival
on mute.