I am tired of holding my tongue, pausing before I speak, silently editing each phrase and carefully designing and arranging them into acceptable and unoffensive words. Holding back on the constant stream of creatively impulsive thoughts and one-liners in fear of rubbing someone the wrong way, triggering them to unleash that fiery brimstone of tête-à-tête, burning me to the core.
I grow weary of secrets kept locked and masterfully hidden away. Anxious of releasing them for fear of the wrong people grasping those nuggets of gold in their greedy little hands. Hands who’d love nothing more than to use it to tear my down. Use it as further proof of my silliness or Peter Pan syndrome as opposed to celebrating or supporting.
Keeping silent is no fun at all.
I stew within, quietly simmering away, knowing that I will inevitably reach that dreaded boiling point where emotions rise, crash and fall.
I find myself retreating inward far too much these days, no longer seeking isolation as it now seeks me. Finding companionship where I can, from within or through a reflection in a shiny surface, that silent friend of mine from when I was much younger that has now grown to maturity and filled with wisdom beyond her years. Even reaching out to you, hopeful you will hear me and comfort with your presence. Conversing with myself to keep the contents from boiling over, releasing the pressure whilst I spend the days away dreaming of that day when I shall roam free, living of my own accord, speaking as I once used to and sharing with those around me of my adventures.