She speaks in fragments, inarticulate in front of anyone
But thoughts inside her head seem clear and certain
She keeps on censoring herself, minding the audience
She’s firm on the belief that she can only say so much
People will keep on believing and clinging to their preconceived notions/ arguing and explaining herself are pointless/
She has long recognized this
but she struggles as she wants to speak her mind without qualms, without the fear of being judged and humiliated.
There’s freedom in the company of her thoughts, in intrapersonal conversations, and in forms of art which somehow reflect he highs and lows of her daily existence, and even those that she can barely understand.