I embrace me as I do my writings, reserved and unsure.
Though oft times the amateur, easily read and dull,
there is a spirit to us both and raw truth aching to be understood.
Ashamed of who I am in these unstudied moments,
ashamed I tend to be of all I write.
But this is me in these emotional, unpolished expressions.
This is me when the mask drops and I am acutely aware of my short comings,
my hopes, my fears, my loneliness.
Written words hold the power to express a side of me I’ve hidden so long
that no one knows it’s there.
A side I forget about too until my secret self is revealed and I live,
if only in written words.
© Cindy Chance (Written 8/7/06 & Revised 12/17/09)
Though oft times the amateur, easily read and dull,
there is a spirit to us both and raw truth aching to be understood.
Ashamed of who I am in these unstudied moments,
ashamed I tend to be of all I write.
But this is me in these emotional, unpolished expressions.
This is me when the mask drops and I am acutely aware of my short comings,
my hopes, my fears, my loneliness.
Written words hold the power to express a side of me I’ve hidden so long
that no one knows it’s there.
A side I forget about too until my secret self is revealed and I live,
if only in written words.
© Cindy Chance (Written 8/7/06 & Revised 12/17/09)
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