I live in a shell like an armadillo

Skinny legs, armored exterior

People think I’m scared of the world

Slow-witted

Quiet

Too weak to live without the armor

 

 

But under this opaque shell

Is a creature with immense thoughts

A strong heart

A solid soul

 

So why hide?

Good question.

I state “people don’t define me!”

Yet, they control when I speak, when I act

Or rather, when I don’t speak, when I don’t act.

 

Their judging eyes intensifies my downfalls

My stumbling voice, my unkempt appearance

 

Confidence

I have little

 

I worry too much over how I’m perceived

Rather than acting on my thoughts, feelings, and desires so that they’ll be achieved.

 

Then this shell I thought was protecting me

Is actually hindering me

 

What’s the use of knowing who I am

But just me knows it

 

Everyone’s self, personality, identity

Are valuable to the world.

 

Sure, I might get hurt

But others are worth more than my safety

Time to come out now, not wait till I’m 80.