Why is it that I hide? This, I do not know. But for reasons undecided, my face I do not show.
I hide behind the words I write More than the name I bear, For what's a name but reference? Something to be shared.
But despite minute importance In exactly how I'm known, My name is still another mask Upon my false king's throne.
And people ask "Who are you?" As if they want to know. What they want is my name Though a name does not show.
A name does not reveal the truth In one's identity A name simply puts on display A title for all to see.
A title I wear simply, Though "title" sounds perverse, For if I hide 'twixt fear and pride Honor goes unrehearsed.
This isn't to say at all That the truth I don't reveal. It's exclusively the physical I keep from you concealed.
You know me just as well As you would an open book. All you have to do to learn Is simply take a look.
So ask again, "Who are you?" I'll say, "You already know." Through the tears I've shed and the words I've bled, My honest self I've shown.
For those unaware, I write under a pseudonym. Sometimes I question whether or not I'm hiding behind it to separate the truth of my feelings from the reality of every day life.
I hope that's not the case.
Sometimes the false identity is shameful, as if I can't come to terms with my own problems. Other times the distance is exactly what helps me come to terms. It's a very delicate balance.