Written out so clear, floating in the air, or clogged in my throat as I gasp for air.
I'm trapped inside my own mind all the time.
There's no relief til my fingers hit keys or the pen hits paper because I can't seem to speak.
Quiet. Shy. Insecure.
I never learned how to talk without the automatic
"No, you're wrong."
Give me a minute to breathe, let me think for myself.
Let me grow.
Let me be free to be who I am or who I want to be.
But instead - forced to hear the screaming in my mind as my lips stay sealed.
You don't get to look in my eyes either:
"window to the soul"
I'll never tell you what I'm thinking;
You don't deserve to know.
But I've gotta let it out, gotta say something to ease the troubles that grow.
Need to learn to express myself,
to let my demons out,
to showcase the circus that has become my mind.
Da da da-da da da da da da-da
But it's more than just anger that's being repressed;
My heart, my hopes, my needs, my dreams,
My happy, my sad, my laughter, my intrigue.
I'll speak minimally to keep the world at ease because the last thing we need is another
So to answer the question, I write for relief.
To unload my troubles where no one will see,
To free myself from this self-imposed cage,
while I wish for strength day after day.