If some stories and poetry were so brave to tell me their truth, which I can relate to, maybe I could write something to save somebody.

Maybe, maybe.

I lack the bravery. It’s scary to show vulnerability in a world of people wearing metal masks, acting as if they have it all together.

I once told a woman at my work, “You know, I cry every night because I know I got problems, but I’m surrounded by people who pretend they have no problems at all. I think they need the most help because they don’t even know they need help.”

She just smiled and laughed, and said, “Oh, I hear you.”

For a moment I knew she understood what I meant.

I connected with her.

The desire is to connect with everyone, but instead of focusing on the “every”, which can seem overwhelming, I can focus on connecting with just that “one”.

Isn’t that what those authors I admire did as well? From their words I felt connected to them, and I am considered as “one”.

Why else do we post our work? Sure, I can say it feels great to process in written form, but the act of sharing the works sends the underlying message that I want to be heard and understood, by at least just one.

Interesting thoughts...
Who knows, I could be totally wrong.

The last thing I will say,
Remove the metal mask from your beautiful face.
Don’t be surprised if water cascades.
Your mask was a great shield,
But it's time to remove it
Let your face be revealed.