Poem: I will speak of it

I will speak of it

I need to.  I should have
long ago, but
the fears, the worries,
and I don't know
who will listen.
I did not think
it would matter
because who listens,
who will?  No one
is changing things
because I speak,
I don't think so,
I don't think
what I say
will change things.
But that is an excuse,
isn't it?  It is
not the reason.
I was afraid
of letting them know,
of being clear
what I think.
It is strange
to admit that.
It is the truth, though,
or a part of it:
I am always suspect
of anything
I would call
the truth.

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