Lifted in Soul Pouring at Midnight or Later

I have the horrible and terrible habit of not speaking my mind but for a good reason.
I shove my clown sized feet in my mouth at least twice a season
But now because I can’t speak because I’m frozen in a cycle
I boil and simmer until I can feel the heat in my every fiber and follicle
Because I don’t want to fight and I rather eat my heart so you can keep both the lock and key
But your eyes when they look into mine, I know it’s my mind you’re reading, you’re not seeing me
The depth to which you felt inadequate about yourself, I’m not so sure
But just the same, I read your face and knew it was there even if I’m the one acting immature
Now I’m writing and rhyming
Trying to think of words to symbolize how I’m overwhelmed at such bad timing
But it’s okay because I’m almost done
My crushing chest and drowning lungs were saved by knowing you’re the one.