betrayed strength
I can take up arms and go to war.
I can survive life without a roof over my head.
I have the nerve to give up my life in one location and
go start life over in another without a safety net.
I challenge myself daily to learn and do new things, to
put myself out there and risk failure on a grand scale.
I don't find crowds intimidating, instead I thrive on
laying myself bare for an audience.
I've faced addictions and given up all of the
substances which have caused me pain in my life.
I can do all of these things without hesitation,
without fear.
But you... you scare the shit out of me.
I know what I hope you're thinking.
But I don't know what you're thinking.
I think I can read you.
But I can't read you.
I'm in my own way and completely unable to be
objective, and I have no idea what to do with that.
For all of my bluff and bluster and bravado...
I'm a coward.
Weak and shivering in the shadow of possibilities.
A boy looking for a skirt under which to hide.
A child searching out a bosom in which to press my face
and block out the world.
The very thing I wish for is that which I most fear...
the potential for comfort after all of the years of
discontent.
It's easy to face the world alone and invulnerable.
To betray your soft inner workings is a trial of
strength.
I lack certainty that I am up to the task.
I can take up arms and go to war.
I can survive life without a roof over my head.
I have the nerve to give up my life in one location and
go start life over in another without a safety net.
I challenge myself daily to learn and do new things, to
put myself out there and risk failure on a grand scale.
I don't find crowds intimidating, instead I thrive on
laying myself bare for an audience.
I've faced addictions and given up all of the
substances which have caused me pain in my life.
I can do all of these things without hesitation,
without fear.
But you... you scare the shit out of me.
I know what I hope you're thinking.
But I don't know what you're thinking.
I think I can read you.
But I can't read you.
I'm in my own way and completely unable to be
objective, and I have no idea what to do with that.
For all of my bluff and bluster and bravado...
I'm a coward.
Weak and shivering in the shadow of possibilities.
A boy looking for a skirt under which to hide.
A child searching out a bosom in which to press my face
and block out the world.
The very thing I wish for is that which I most fear...
the potential for comfort after all of the years of
discontent.
It's easy to face the world alone and invulnerable.
To betray your soft inner workings is a trial of
strength.
I lack certainty that I am up to the task.