The real you.

Written by: carl dunford

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.