I stand outside, watching and wondering. Are words angry or spoken in love?
Are questions born of a want to know or in defense of what isn't?
Do you want to know me and where I've walked?
Where I've come from or how I've moved through this maze of maddening lies and hurt we call life?
maybe it's unrealistic; illusions of a reality I can't manifest.
But then, if I stop trying, what would that mean and how would it look?
Do you know what it's like to stand outside?
Where sound is as good as silence for the meaning it carries.
Do you feel lost?
Unable to perform for an audience you cannot see.
Trying to impress, please, perform.
Again.
All in anticipation of the impossible day when they learn the truth of who and what you are.
The day when you fear they will turn to you with eyes of hate, words of anger and hearts that claim only to have known betrayal.
