Too Regal

In a prisoner's cloak of gray
i am trapped, the walls standing 
tall and white, covered in tiles
my hands seeping blood from trying
to rip the iron bars from between my lips
but anxiety is a jail that keeps me weak and frail and meek
jumping at the slightest squeak
keeping me from speaking
and when a word leaks out it is bad at escaping or hiding
and it is sentenced to weeks of regret 
and that's why writing is the only way my words can be seen or heard 
my pencil is my accomplice, helping the letters
travel across underground railroads 
whispering from the page into eardrums 
filling minds with hums and conundrums,
maybe that's why speaking my mind is so illegal
they are all too regal to try to understand 
what I am saying.