"Speak My Mind"

Dreams wrap themselves around me, moist and warm.

I came inside to shelter from the storm.

They won't give me a straight response until

they have processed my application form.



When life gets weird, so does my poetry.

I don't get paid for this. My words are free.

I speak my mind and, hey - you know, guess what?

I don't care if you disapprove of me -



or so I tell myself, but is it true?

I'll sometimes water down a point of view

these days, in case it gets misunderstood -

tone down my language, if they ask me to.



What happened to the spirit of my youth?

I remember when the sky was my roof.

When did I start to feel too insecure

to speak my mind, and hit them with the truth?