My Voice

Putting on an outsiders mask, Someone tailored a casque To hide me away To keep me from straying Too far. I have to remain on their radar, They uphold me to a bar, They’ll look at me from afar, Judging my every prayer Because I am only theirs. I am what they made. My words Are theirs to display. I am but a blur. My words sit on the tip of my tongue- Begging to be spat out, Born from my lungs Only to die young. I want to be noticed, I want to be considered. Yearning to be set free from the cage That I constantly hold myself in. And yet i only swallow the rage. Afraid of my opinions, Afraid of my life backstage, Afraid of what my words will cause- So I wrap my pain in gauze I’m too young. I’m too old. I can’t have an opinion In this territorial dominion- But I can’t stop My thoughts. Overwhelming cold. Why is what I say Not okay? Why can’t I speak what I want without Worrying if I’ll see another day? - Inside a dark prison cell- Walking on eggshells The iron bars of teeth- My thoughts remain in its sheath Words sit on death row Waiting for the revolution That the reaper will mow : The execution Of socialization