Everyone keeps a part of themselves

Locked away

In a place where sometimes,

They don't even know

How to bring their real selves out.

 

I am one of those people.

There's so much darkness

That surrounds who I really am

That hides who I want to be.

Who I want to be

Is so well hidden

That I don't even know,

That I can't even get a grasp on it.

 

Sometimes I touch it,

Brush it,

And get this feeling

That I'm made for so much more,

But then I get scared

Or nervous

Or anxious

And pull my hand away.

 

Who am I really?

Not even I know.

I have a strange duplicity, though.

When I am out and about

I'm not who I am at home.

 

I can't figure out

Which is the real me.

One side is bitter and angry,

Hurt and lonely.

The other is out there

To make the world a better place,

To try to spread hope.

 

Maybe it's just seeking

Seeking what one craves,

But if I were to choose the one

That I want to be real

It would be the one

That I am outside

Because I hate the one

I am at home.

 

I hate feeling bitter

I hate feeling abandoned,

And I hate feeling angry and lonely all the time.

 

So which side is the mask?

I guess I'll never know,

But what keeps the real me hidden -

That broken and lost thing -

Is because I feel like I have to be strong

And hide my vulnerabilities

To keep movin on.