Who am I? to be exact.

Well don't we all wonder that.

We each think we are one way or another,

but act so differently with eachother.

Myself, I think I'm curious and smart,

but dumb it down to play the popular part.

My inner passions so often beg to burst forth,

but I'll keep them hidden behind a locked door. 

For I'm frightened of being made fun of or spurned, 

so I'll bite my tongue and feel the words burn.

Loud and outspoken I know is what I am, 

but shy and quiet I shall pretend.

Each day the real me longs to creep out, 

but I keep her back afraid, and filled with self doubt.

For fear is what holds the true me in place, 

behind the mask that has become my face.


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