Is This the Truth?

I'm shy. Meek. Is this the truth?

I hold myself down. These are my chains,

Shackles of my forge.

This is intentional. Delusional.

Visions of perfection.

If I rid myself of humanity, if I give away

My soul, then they'll respect me.

I was wrong all along.

This strange form, expressionless

Emotionless

Is my body.

I fight to be free of it,

The limbs that are a burden,

The weight that forces me to adhere

To keep to the rules. To listen and to be

Just like the rest of them

In more ways than I should be

And never play my own way.

I am kind. Is this the truth?

I have bits and pieces of contempt for the ones who try to conform.

Including myself. Most of it for myself.

Others are always somehow better.

I live in a distorted reality,

Me and my conceited dreams

Of omniscience

And of reaching the level of their respect.

I hate my youth

For holding back so many things

That could have been mine.

I hate the greed of others

Yet I drive my own.

Don't we all? But I think

I'm worse than most.

I've joined the darkness, after all.

And then I came back afraid.

How good can I be?

I am creative. Is this the truth?

I do not have the brilliant, glittering ideas

Prized by others.

My writing, my crayons, my pencil, charcoal outlines--

Those are not my creations. Beneath the layers of lacy zigzags

Is my soul, raw and whole, and my heart, pulsing,

And my mind that contains that soul, that controls that heart.

That's all it is. Straightforwardness.

Recklessness. Thoughlessness. Giving what I never had, what I always had.

It is not creativity. It is--however minuscule or huge--

Courage. That, I can be proud of.

Because even if they can't tell, I gave them something important.

I gave them a peephole--

A look into my soul. My light.

And I know that what I scrawled across that first clean sheet of looseleaf--

Me: Shy, kind, creative

Was a lie, a useless lie.

A lie to myself. And I believed it.

I didn't mean to lie--but I didn't know any better.

Know yourself. I hadn't listened.

Well, now I'm trying. Every day, I'm a little closer,

With a little more of myself that I'm sure of.

The idea is to find my own song.