the canvas is too large
I am used to dealing in miniatures
how am I supposed to fill up the space
when my wit has always had narrow bounds
do I dare leave much white space
room for the eye to breathe
or is that as dangerous
as filling their heads with tripe and travesty
I’m torn
between being honest or being liked
the confines have been chaffing me
and I long to break out
the mold that used to fit so well
is squeezing me dry
my comfort is choking me
may I unfetter my thoughts
let them roam freely
what if they get picked up
and carried by the winds
will others step up
to take their place
will I always have this struggle with myself
the trees and the forest and the cliches therein
will there be at least one person who will hear
and care and understand
maybe that doesn’t matter
when it’s me I have to please

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