When I close my eyes I am no longer in your box of Judgment. I’m in my own world, how do you deal with that, by calling me a maniac, and what does that make you using your rationality against my escape you never created that lead me into a freedom you call madness? I say its genius to exist in two places, co-existing, not interfering with you, nor affecting you, just a haven of untouched territory, ones self you see as a prison. When I open it up, write it down, sharing it, forging my novel will you laugh then? Will the gates of intellect unfurl will others measure them? Do I, and should I care if you stare? Freedom is free to be me, inside and outside of myself I must be liberated. So why do I turn within? Maybe instead I should twist myself inside out, no doubts; no fear that is what they say is freedom. Who decides, and who should? Me, being allowed to Question that is liberty, Love is freedom, choice is freedom. Hate creates wrath it traps you, but some call it freedom. I call it abhorrence. Then there I go again, turning in circles, but if it was a cycle of love imagine all it could bring, then no one would have to turn within to break free.