For fear of showing who I really am.
I speak but I’m just a sham.
Colored green with the thought,
that being me is all that I have.
So, I smile and spill words of falsity.
Appearing happy and fun, but
that’s just the me I wish I could be.
Even when I write I’m afraid.
For who am I writing to that would think that YOU,
Deep in this body is a soul crushed by the words
whore, useless, mistake.
The faces that cast off disdain with the ease of peeling skin.
Never in your eyes have I found the approval I seek.
So I smile it away and push that soul deeper.
Only on those days.
It bursts out across passages and in speech, ceasing to do anything but shout.
It is real .
Vibrant in color. Warped and twisted and bruised. Smiling.
It is me. For all it’s ugly ways and coarseness. It is me.
And I have locked it away. For you.