Courage.

When I think of speaking aloud,
I'll be honest- I get really scared.
But don't get me wrong, I'm in love with those
hot, beautiful lights.

The only thing seems to be
is that as an actress I'm not portraying me
Rather, some tale or story
and a story is so very different than the bare, real me.

The story is not real
But I am- and I have bones that shake
and a heart that races whenever I think of
revealing me- off the page and on a stage.

This is me- my writing
the deep, secret parts that no one else
really, ever gets to see
and I hesitate so badly, counting 1, 2, 3

because I hate who I've already chosen to let see
and it makes me pause to think twice,
makes me act no so very nice
because I've been burned before, would someone please bring me ice

for the swollen, sensitive parts of me
that one simply sees the want for some attention
but aloud, will never mention
and its been like making myself live in two separate dimensions.

Strangers, you all, are different.
No one here knows me,
an impartial audience that will only
ever see what I want you to see.

But I suppose there may be some people
who've seen those various hurting part of me
and I keep them close to my heart
and hold on tight for the fear of them departing.

So why do I still hesitate, some might ask
and answering only with this question: is it because
I'm still afraid of removing my mask?
Dear God, I hope that for long this won't last.

When the mask does come off it will be a huge step
a cliff from which I've never before leapt.
But there is solid truth that I can't change:
is that with him, better I've never slept.