The Real Me

I wonder why it’s hard to be totally honest with ourselves. Why must we block things out? Why can’t we just do what we feel like? Why do we have to cover things up? Why is it so hard to tell people how we feel?

I think I’m just hiding in the background, doing things that aren’t being honest… just to keep from hurting. When I look out at your face, I couldn’t be more confused at the expression underneath. When I look at my face, I see something aching to come out. But it hurts too much to ask it to. It has no place to go. Everything is day by day. My words bubble and flow within me, but they don’t dare take form. Left on my own I dare not reach outward.

But my mind wanders to far away places, un-restrained by the present. My mind wanders far… to days where I felt that I could be with you and be with me. The real me.