Behind these words, there is a me;
I’ve hidden him for years —-
I’ve been afraid of God-knows-what,
And lived within those fears.
I’ve tried to find the heart’s extremes
From safe within the middle;
I’ve reached for objectivity,
But in this life, there’s little.
For who and what I am determines
How I think and feel,
And there’s no me at all, if I
Cannot be truly real.
So I have friends, and family,
And love, here, where I’m at:
Behind these words there is a me,
A lucky me,
At that
