I hesitate to speak.
Is silence better than accusation?
Should I dam up my heart like a river,
And let the criticism bring me to overflowing,
Breaking the dam at last?
Or is it better to let my heart flow,
The beat creating waves for the world to see,
Whether they like it or not?
My words are meant to express my hurt.
But what if they double it?
If I speak will I be pushed down and rejected?
Left in the dirt, trampled down,
My thoughts, feelings, ideas
Scattered through the mud like small strips of paper,
Surrounding pressure shoving them into the mire
Until only a tiny smudged corner is left visible.
Can I raise myself from the filth?
Do I dare show my mud- and tear-stained face?
Can I let my heart beat again?
Will I?
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