We have many selves;
there’s the real self and the others behind the masque.
The real self gets pushed aside,
When our alter ego doesn’t want to hide.

Out comes the good girl, Rambo, and the billionaire,
Into the darkness hides shame and despair.
There’s also superwoman, the tech-wizz, and social entrepreneurs,
A shy kid dogged by not enough hides his cares,
Cos if they wore their hearts on their sleeves
They’d get beaten up and find no reprieve.

Is this the way we want to live?
Hiding out, these pressures not wanting to give.
They’re our protective armour in ourselves,
Wanting fame and fortune is not where our true future dwells.

We keep on this armour
because it’s become part of us,
We need to release these selves and
know we’re good enough.

It’s not an instant switch, like the internet promises,
But a slow journey of taking off the personas,
And being ok, with who we are,
reconciling what we say.

Let the little voice deep within,
Look to him, who knew no sin.
Cry out, let him in, and be redeemed.
Re-birthed, and on a journey of being restored.

Was my stroke a cruel, twisted f#@k up?
...
Or one of divine luck?

Has it not taught me compassion?
Anger? Acceptance, how to ration criticism?
And laugh when I muck up?

Now, I breathe in gratitude,
And my world has opened up
to new experiences, people, and circumstances,
even living in new towns, cities and states.
Mastering REHAB, new knowledge and careers.
Working through old fears, sure, I've got new ones,
But who hasn't?

Connected and trusting this journey.
...
Now, that's the silver lining!