No one dislikes grand entries
Recognition, calms contentment,
It's a fact,we appreciate,
But have you thought of their world,
With words spearing the heart,
Yet too sharp, to get through,
When I talk of secret hearts,
I mean the painful baggage,
The lagguage in an introvert's heart,
So when they hold the curtains behind,
Give them the backstage role
Maybe they'll lean on the backs,
And make their grief known,
They are children of our mothers
And their world, is the silenced pain,
By the virtue, of abandoned upbringing.