I wrote for you.
Care?
The words I pronounce,
the illusions I fabricate,
small defenses dressed as language.
If you could see me,
you wouldn’t love me.
It works this way.
To be known
means there will be no me.
I learned that early
and kept quiet since.
No one loves me,
even in this state of secrecy.
Thoughts I have to hide,
faults and demons I must keep away,
stored carefully
so nothing spills.
I stay intact by disappearing.
I stay understood by remaining unseen.
You’ll understand me
when you see me.
