I’ve always wondered
What it’s like to be myself
Openly and honest
And not hiding behind bookshelves
Waiting for someone to see
And let me into their heart.
A guy is knocking
At the front door again
Asking for that little girl
That I once was
And screaming at me
To go hide again
Behind those bookshelves
Because how dare I try
To be myself.
You hold me again. In your arms. The rain is pouring even harder now, coming down like warm, wet paint splattering our arms and faces until we're drenched in it.
Ask for help
They tell you,
But when you do,
They refuse to give it,
Be yourself
They chant,
But when you try,
You're told to hide away.
The light flickers in my bedroom
as I brush my hair;
I remember that theory that it’s someone dead trying to speak to you,
I’m sure it’s just a thing from movies.
The light flickers again in the bathroom
Comments
I really love this poem, it's short but well encapsulates and portrays the concept, I wish I had a word for it but I don't, but I totally know what that's like. It's a very beautiful short poem.
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