Oct 03, 2005 00:26
It’s like a hidden world we keep inside,
The colored paint that lines each inner wall;
Our beings plastered with these things we hide.
We each have secrets, things for which we’ve cried,
The things we feel would frighten and appall.
They are the hidden world we keep inside.
But yet some things just cannot be denied
We scribble them on paper-oh, we scrawl!
“My being’s plastered with these things I hide!”
And so we look to strangers to confide,
Bring others to us with a nameless call
To see the hidden world we keep inside.
In daily life these things are just implied
We never see the danger of it all
Our beings plastered with these things we hide:
We hate to think someone could throw us wide,
Could hold the things that make or break our fall,
Could see the hidden world we keep inside-
Our beings plastered with these things we hide.
214,
poetry