I write poems not for the glory,
not for recognition.
It's because I have a story
that I need to tell myself.
To let myself know
if It is not real on earth,
It is alive in my mind, though
no one can perseive the scene.
My Mind. The place where the safest secrets lie
and try to convince me the world knows otherwise.
That the world takes fragile me, looks on the inside,
and does not see what I see.
The world that changes, rearranges
to make me "better," more worldly,
all the while I fight against the strangeness
to save my childlike fantasy.
Until I stop
run to the refuge I find
in the Book when I let my guard drop.
The One who smoothes over my brokenness and makes me pure.