If I told my mom who I wrote about,
or anyone for that matter,
or if anyone I even knew ever read
what I wrote,
and questioned who I wrote about,
I would die of embarrassment.

Instead of being proud,
of what I write
and who I write about,
I'm scared.
I'm scared that these are my thoughts,
and this is what encompasses my intellect.

These words are the kind that keep me at night
as I lay under blankets in the safety of honest darkness.

It's terrifying to let people read me.
In the light they might,
while contrasting obscurity,
I am willing to trust.

I am anonymous and that's the only promise
that's keeping me away
from hiding everything.