Fear

1991

I stand amongst the souls of friends,
always touching me, always comforting me,
always telling me of my worth to them,
always granting me their friendship,
giving me their respect,
showing me their trust,
endearing me with their love.

But I am alone, I am hidden and afraid.
I tell them to expect nothing.
I tell them that I can give them nothing.
I show them the respect I can muster,
and I tell them what I know of them,
I show them ways to help themselves.
The ways I showed myself,
but failed to listen.

I don't pity myself for my lonliness,
there are no tears,
only false smiles,
a great mask of trajedy turned upside down.

I know it's my fault,
my lonliness is my blame, my errors.
I never learned how to let people understand me,
I only had the slight tool of writing,
the slight escape of poetry.

But, even then, my desire to hide from pain
was greater than my desire to end the lonliness.
I spoke in riddles, my terms were vague,
my words were drifting like my resolve to let people in.

I let fear run my life,
a great big hypocrit I am.
How can I expect anyone else to believe the world,
"If you hide or run from your fear, it controls you,"
when I can't even tell them to myself.

All the many ears that have bowed their head to me,
asking for my advice with their problems,
all the reflections of myself that I choose to ignore within
them, knowing that I'd find my own answers within the ones
I gave them, knowing that I'd solve my problems if I stopped hiding.

But, now, I suppose, as a hidden soul,
I must confess my misdeeds.
All of my friends, I have been unfaithful to you,
I have been unfaithful to myself.

I have shut you away from the deepest parts of me,
I have not allowed you to understand,
I have forbidden you from knowing.

But, as I often told others,
you can't expect anyone to break down your walls
if you don't break them down yourself.
So, here it goes,
one last respite through fantasy…

Here I stand, naked, before my mirror image,
a glass figure armed with spikes that pierce hearts,
causing pain beyond imagination,
and destroying all it means to be happy.

I raise my fist in the ultimate salute,
and peel back the layers of protection,
bleeding with each new cut the mirror inflicts,
letting the blood be my tears.

Finally, at last, at long last,
without the moon, without the candle,
no words of wisdom, no teachings of philosophy,
nothing but my nude self,
nothing but my internalized passion,
I reach forward and thunder the mirrored figure…

Glass rains upon me, creating gash after gash,
until I become a flowing river of painless bleeding,
an eternal beacon of triumph.

I am not what I once was, I tell you.
If you will listen, please don't cut me anymore…
Please let me show you who I am.