Why do I put up this fight? Why do I still write?

I feel trapped in my head. Always afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Or worse saying something that registers no meaning.
But here in this place.
Here in cyberspace.
I am king.

My fear leaves me and I can say what I dream.
Those who have no interest are free to leave
While those who do can stay can think on what I mean

Moreover I can think, becoming more sure as I read and re-read
That I am sane
Many imagine me to be the fool, or the hobbit
And they may be right indead
But here on the page, on the screen
I can be mean
I can be loud
I can be bold
I can be foul

Of course only as long as my arguments and reason are sound.
The point is in this place I can not be cowed
I will not do here only as I am told
Here I am made of my own mold
And in the stroke of the pen and the key it makes me more whole