I stand before you today
With a confession
Oh, but I don't know what I want to say
I could leave you with the wrong impression
There's my problem
Nineteen years of my life were spent up. Pent up.
Tentative to speak
Tentative to act
No penny could pay for my thoughts
I didn't want them to be bought
Cause I'd lement on what my own two cents meant
Tentative to fall
Tentative to fail
Would I sink, or would I sail?
I hold in me nearly two decades of thoughts unvoiced
I held my tongue
Savagely sealed my lips in a vice grip
Tentative to slip
Tentative to embarass myself
Because its better to be silent than to be stupid
To be complacent than to incite violence
I stifled myself
Suppressed how I really feel
Snuffed out my zest and my zeal
To put on a front that was so far from real
Tentative to risk it
Tentative to seal
My fate, and be forced to reparate
Or negate myself in my own debate
What if they hate me?
I was scared of that subjective status
But I had a sneaking suspicion that my stanzas were sound
My sentences sucinct
I yearn to influence others to think
But I value my own thoughts and opinions so much
I shelter them, swallow hard, and suppress them with a blink
Tentative to stand
Tentative to fight
I'm Gatsby. Arms outstretched towards my green light
I craved the feedback
Be it disaster or delight
But how do you break a habit
Of hiding your heart
Where does one start?
Perhaps like a dart?
Throw my words at a board and see where they land?
Or a time capsule?
Left to be dug out from the sand?
Tentative to plan
Tentative to improve
I have to force my lips to move
Delve into the dark despite disdain
Ignore my instincts to refrain
Shrug off the laughter
If it happens
Its not discouragement
Its room to grow
There's nowhere else that I can go
And if I learn to take flight
If I start to soar
Then maybe I'll learn to be
Tentative no more