when i looked at what i had been writing
i came to the realization that
i had been trying, so desperately
to mask my insecurities and trials
with sweet poetry and prose

why do i still try to hide
what i feel, on this anonymous poetry account

this hiding has gone far beyond just the reaches of the internet
it has pervaded into each sector of my life

i. i hide from myself

i fool myself with forced optimism
and the mentality that
my wounds are nothing but shallow scratches
that, if it can't be healed with time, then
it can be healed with adjustment and moving on

ii. i hide from others

i pretend, that they, too are fooled
by my obvious act
as i push everyone away
with lies of
"i'm fine" and "i'm okay"

why can't i come out of hiding

I like writing about you
It comes so easy and natural
Like the grass that grows
The moon that shines
Or the happy thoughts
when your on my mind
It is effortless and enjoyable
Like enjoying the wind on my skin
The sun on my back
And you in my eyes

As much as I want to talk to you I won't,
I know you are scared to repeat that same old history again and its okay I'll wait.

I need a friend,
So do you,
But will you let me in.

I hope you do,
Or else I'll just wait outside your doors hoping there will come a day when you and I will sit together and talk what we always wanted to.

the point of my last pen bleeds onto another scrap of paper and i wonder how many hours will pass until i don't hurt anymore. until i'll stop bleeding out like this pen. i've got printed photos of you showing a different face from a different time that seem to watch the formation of every word i'm breathing. and honestly i'm wondering how i got here... sewing thoughts together and then ripping them apart.

production and appearance are my worst enemies. exposing the soul is a delicate thing. because my mirrors (and yours) whisper lies just like everybody else. HA. many doe-eyed, naive girls before you have fallen into those untruths and drowned in their weight. and most boys are more insecure than their female counterparts... but no one speaks.

the day that i realized these facts is the day that i began to trust only the words i wrote on paper. the boredom made me write, but now i write to breathe.

I met a man.. that I believe..I have dreamt into existence.
He spoke life into my dreams, dried my tears, when I cried from my ever healing soul, planted lavender below my window sills, surfed the ups and downs of my complicated moods and patiently waits..

He's the constant, I never knew was real, the strength that keeps my back from bowing, the gentle...that soothes every doubt.

He's the description of what Love..is truly meant to be.

Is there a genuine,
              Me ....
        Under all these masks ????.....