The Real You.

This poem, I write tonight, I hope will make every thing, all right. I find it hard . The word's not in cue, so mixed up, that's some thing new. There's a lot I do not understand, I wish I knew, the real you, is that such a bad thing, to do. I am not a bad man, that is sure, so why have you shut the door. It's as if you have built a wall, and won't let any one in. If this is the case, how can I begin. To understand, the real you, that is some thing, I would, like to do, but if it carries on like this, I guess I will call it quits, and remember back in time, of the person I thought,I knew, the real you.