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Demonaru May 2015
I want you to go deep inside,
Look in that place where you hide.
That room which has been locked away,
Words, Ideas, Truths, and Secrets,
that you refuse to say.

Shelves of boxes labeled with fear,
but not one person comes near.
Only you dare walk alone,
To read the messages of these sins,
never atoned.

They always stay closed though,
Cowardice getting the better,
Never embracing what you have sown.
With nowhere to escape,
Your past builds up,
Pressing against your makeshift caution tape.

Eventually,
the boxes over encumber you,
and become too big for that small room.
So as one would assume,
you move them outside.
No longer has it become a place to hide.

From one space,
to the next,
It becomes your new existence,
No time for play, talk or ***.

All for the fear of opening a box.

No matter who you are,
The boxes are always there,
Like bone deep scars.
They can look different and every way,
but are always still the same.
They never go away,
but with help from others,
Your own mind becomes a safe place to stay.

I still have my boxes to open,
These words are me letting out one right now,
Even though this box is not overly endowed,

More boxes to unveil,
Thoughts that need to be let out some way,
truths that need to be taught.
But I'll get to that one day.
Demonaru May 2015
Just like many people,
It's painful for me to look inside,
but yet it comes to me as second nature,
Past so cruel, chewing on my mind,
Like wild coyotes on the weak flesh of chicken.
I look behind me so far it feels like the distance
should take hours to walk,
but if I simply reach out my hand,
I can easily touch it, embrace it, and reject it.
I want to act like that was not me,
but there is nothing that possessed my feet,
to walk in that direction,
that direction that fades into dark like a movie scene.
My past works me like a seductress,
Curling my own finger until I give in and embrace them.
I always look, and I always see me, remember that it's me,
but I always come to a nice little realization,

I am me,

I've changed from then,
ways no longer remained the same,
just like so many people, I changed,
but it's painful to look away,
And it comes to me like first nature.
I constantly compare,
hearing the thoughts that belong to me and myself
dark torturous thoughts,
****, violence, ******, intricate torture, Shameful acts that should not be spoken of.
.......calm, a need to calm, a present tense feeling that gives me control......

I often consider,
which side is more real,
and which one I should use to define me,
Which do the people close to me,
feel more comfortable with, though,
the answer to that comes quick.
But if I hide these thoughts,
these thoughts I force myself to believe are the past,
Such suppressed thoughts,
Which one becomes the hypocrite?
To hide a part of me and act like the opposite this "past",
to act like the opposite of me?
Or would it be hypocritical to act myself, the me I want to be,
and fight the rest of me to be?
I've written poems for a long time of my life, though I never felt comfortable showing people, and I've decided to finally post something and I might begin to post more. Take with this as you will.

— The End —