Truth is something one must give to himself.

That truth is something I had not found.

Eyes can see all in front of them,

But eyes cannot look inside.

All my years less one passed by;

Then at last I opened...

I let the outside shine upon all I knew;

Secrets I let fall from my hands.

Now others could see inside.

I could see myself.

Truth to what I have been:

A boy who felt happiness,

A man who felt sympathy,

A boy who dreamed.

A man who pursued.

I found nothing I did not already know,

There were no terrible things to hide,

But with this act birthed a new truth:

My center.

Something once tainted with mystery,

Was now gifted with clarity.

This was now me.

I have no hidden self;

My hands are free of lies.

Though a fool I’m not.

I know I hold impurity,

Often thinking myself higher than most,

And if I am lower, I must climb above.

So I suppose I am a fool.

It is odd though,

How this trait is what drives me to improve,

To fix faults while it is a fault itself.

A push to a pull.

One person cannot be defined in words,

No matter how great the number,

But as much as it can be,

This is me.