I was never much of a talker, but now I talk less.
worried about my words and the mess they make.
I was never so unsure,
but I believe the time has its way,
of changing and moulding you,
or is it the people and company that surround you?
I oft find myself enchanting a crowd,
and then in front of one, I lose my ground,
no, it isn’t love,
that cannot be expressed,
criticised every step of the way.
I may not be good at all,
but a small flaw cannot be my fall.
Or can it?
Did the old me question herself so much?
Questions? Questions? And some more…
I would love to have a conversation,
just talking,
not the judgement galore...
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