The Real ME

Older Poems

A sopping curl

Around my face refurled.

A color unknown,

Of blonde, brown and gold.

It frames my face

As the rest falls to my waist;

And dark blue eyes

With little white specks inside,

Peer back at me.

Am I a friend, a sibling, or what?

What do people see

When they simply see me?

Do they see the tears

Falling from my eyes

As they slip into the gentle pond?

A rippling surface,

Am I really as confusing

As the distortion of the water

Paints me as?

Can they see the sorrow

Residing in my eyes?

Can they see the stubborn will

Just fighting to arise?

Can they see the love

I feel for each and all?

Can they hear the whisper

Of my spirit’s silent call?

I see it in my reflection,

But it seems to come out messy.

I can’t help but wonder,

What other always see

When they see me.

I’m unique, I’m original,

Not part of a collection.

I’m me, that’s who I see.

But the part of me that shows,

Is the part that I want them to know.

Not the real me,

But the Show.

Because I feel safer,

If no one knows.

I can’t get hurt that way.

At least, not today.

So I’ll distort my image,

To what I want them to see.

Because I don’t think they could handle

The real Me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just something I wrote to try and describe myself, or wondering what exactly others saw in me... I can't quite recall.

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