I'm not sure I can always decide,
How it is that I feel inside.
I grow in ways I don't always know,
And feel things I cannot describe.
For many moments I remain silent,
For some reason talking is just too hard,
ask me to write you my thoughts,
and you would then know what I meant to say.
you would always have something to read,
if I put on paper that which I feel,
This may be a fatal flaw,
or it may be just a way to 'be'.
I think you could really understand me,
If you listened in a different way,
Only if I wrote so,
Would you know if I wanted to leave or to stay.
But let me save you some time,
because I know not all like to read,
my written expression will most likely always,
be the only way I can be freed.
