To write, I fear
'cause I think it'll make me sad.
To speak, I fear
'cause the criticism hurts so bad.

They call me a rant
stating their ego, stabbing me.
What is that they want?
My knowledge or to be my enemy.

I was strong yesterday,
but today my success is bequeathed.
I am weak today.
My emotions caged. Imagination tethered.

To break, I am ready.
Like a loose invertebrate, I lay.
To die, I am passionate.
But it is adjourned to someday.

They made me run away.
And I feel it easier than to fight.
I can try for a billion billion times.
But,
Would I ever be able to escape this plight?