Am I ever going to be able to say what I think?
Is there ever going to be a moment when I can just unfurl my lips-
Breath in some courage,
And exhale the truth?
Is there going to be a day when lies are silenced,
Fears are murdered,
And doubts released?
Of course not,
For that would be to simple-
And obfuscating is my talent.
But I can’t just sit here
Holding back everything that is tormenting my mind,
And killing my soul.
But everything needs to come out.
And everything needs to be spoken;
For what good is a lie that is corrosive and destructive-
It only creates harm: and all I want to do is good.
So I have just unraveled my own mystery-
I need to state the facts.
One problem-
I still have to face my fears.
There’s the fear of rejection;
The fear of loss
And remorse
And sadness
And regret.
But didn’t I just say it would be worth it?
Is my mind no longer working?
Is this the part where a psychiatrist loses sanity?
Or is that just me?
The insane one,
Still searching for help,
Still needing to confess-
What are they, sins?
Or does my mind make them sins,
And in fact no one even notices,
Or cares enough to say something.
But they’re saying something by not saying anything.
Implied words- hah!
That’s ironic-
For that’s the “sin” I’ve committed-
Or should I say, “we’ve” committed.