I Don't Want To Say This

I don't want to recite this poem in front of you... Probably not for the reasons you're thinking, But what do I know of what you're thinking For that matter What do you know of me? Sometimes I think I'm pretty witty with words, But what if you don't think so? I get so tired of trying to make people like me. It's like trying to make your bed when it's already made, Or cutting each blade of grass with toenail clippers When you have a blade that spins at half the speed of an airplane. That's around 250 mph for those of you wondering. Yet I still choose to cruise with the snails with my nail clippers. I've been learning a lot about myself lately. I'm not sure if you care to know, So I won't say anything. But now I've got you curious to know Don't I? Ahh what do I know? It's too unsafe to say, But maybe if I keep playing with your expectations I can expect you to react a certain way. What you don't understand is I was too afraid to show my face today. I didn't want you to see every freckle Every wrinkle Ever hair set, or not set, in its place - Whether I'm wearing makeup or not. Probably not, for the record. I hate making the time for it. There's so much else out there worth my time. See, I envision visions of timeless seasons and seasonless times Where shame cocoons itself in radiating blankets of light, And authenticity merged with love emerge together, beaming brighter than light itself, And I myself have a part to play, In weaving threads of love and hate Because one doesn't exist without the other, And somewhere in the middle is understanding. What you don't understand about me Is that I'm drowning, But I can't figure which of you offer oxygen and which of you hold my coffin. I'm dying for you to know me, But that's all on hold Until the marrow of my bones know how it feels to bear my own weight. Until then, getting to know me will have to wait.