Shout

by Laurie Halse Anderson

This is the story of a girl who lost her voice and wrote herself a new one.

this book reeks of my fear of depression’s black dogs howling and the ancient shames riding my back, their claws buried deep

“I was screaming,” screaming for reasons too many to count.

beatings didn’t fit in the fairy tales she liked to tell herself so she sugarcoated the story to make it easier to swallow.

Ivory grooves deep-carved in the bar by my baby teeth Mommy’s bruising fingers pinning me against the sink

I learned then that words had such power some must never be spoken and was thus robbed of both tongue and the truth.

Once branded, the feeling of stupid never fades no matter how many medals you win.

“Can I take out all the books?” and she answered quite seriously “Of course, dear, just not at the same time.”

The taste of shame smells like stubborn vomit in your hair lingering no matter how often you wash it sometimes you have to shave yourself bald

The playground was a war of girls versus boys and now I feel shame cuz some kids must have wanted to stand with the other team, and some must have wanted new teams entirely, but the world was drawn for us binary in clumsy chalk lines,

if I opened my mouth, I was afraid I’d never stop screaming

untreated pain is a cancer of the soul that can kill you

when I wasn’t stoned the only thing that helped me breathe was opening a book

The school board barred as much practical education as they could. Maybe they just really liked babies and wanted us to start breeding as soon as possible.

By eleventh grade, living hour by hour was habit and every once in a while I could see a little further ahead.

Home was still hellish, afire with the painful realization that no matter how much I loved my parents my love could not fix them

I want to leave rose into a tidal wave of I’m going

dreaming was our lifeboat in rough waters

too many grown-ups tell kids to follow their dreams like that’s going to get them somewhere Auntie Laurie says follow your nightmares instead cuz when you figure out what’s eating you alive you can slay it

It is my first morning of high school. I have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, and a stomachache.

Censorship is the child of fear the father of ignorance and the desperate weapon of fascists everywhere.

The opposite of innocence is not sin. Dearly beloved, the opposite of innocence is strength.

Take your age the first time a stranger touched your body with danger in his hands,

shame turned inside out is rage.