Perhaps all that frightens, deep down inside,
Is something helpless, longing to be alive,
A silent call for warmth, a plea for care,
In shadows, there is more than despair.
Beneath anger’s surge when I feel hurt,
There’s a softness buried in the dirt,
A child’s voice, tender, raw, and small,
A gentle part that’s learned to stall.
The happy mask, the painted smile,
Hides a world so vast, a hidden isle,
If I approach it with gentle grace,
It shows the truth behind the face.
Those thoughts I find repulsive, disdainful, too,
Are fragments of me, yet not all I pursue,
They’re whispers, hints, but not my whole,
Not the essence of my core, my soul.
For I am more than fear, than hurt, than rage,
More than masks on this life’s stage,
In meeting these pieces with love, not shame,
I step towards wholeness, calling my name.