Self-Expression

An idle hand, upon a blank canvas,

Jumbled thoughts, undeciphered.

Every word holds a purpose,

Changing in correspondence to another.

The liability of every word uttered from my mouth,

Why should I let such a thing out?

Expression brings change; silence is safe,

Quiet allows myself to be erased.

The world stares upon me, prepared to judge,

All my work will be undone.

I have learned a way to phrase,

Ensuring you will stay.

But in our reserve,

I feel the world we created begin to curve.

What was the purpose?

When reality will resurface?