Every time I think a thought, the filters in my mind strip it bare.
You can’t think this, or that, or that. You shouldn’t say this, or that, or that.
Oh to be a child again, when thoughts were simply thoughts not strife.
No expectation to be bound, to the restrictions of the hounds.
Thoughts were pure, and true, and free.
No obligations to conform.
The filters not yet planted in the brain.
Oh to be a child again, to speak my mind again, without the judgement of the hounds.