The True Me
The me that wants to fall in love,
Not spend another night in a,
Lustful bed.
The one that is deaf,
Because of her mothers hate cries.
The me that takes the word danger with a grain of salt,
And will try anything once.
If not killed might try it again.
The one that really thinks she is beautiful and sexy,
And enjoys getting dressed up,
Because then someone might notice her.
The me that is a broken and fallen angel,
Picking up all the pieces.
But needs your hand to learn how to start,
Putting them back together again.
The one that is a weak, loud, strong leader,
Who will put you before herself anytime, anywhere.
The person that you cant see from a far.
The someone that you cant find skin deep,
Even if you looked real hard.
This me is the one who is only shared within whispers,
And hidden within too many masks.
The masks are like a layered cake and I am at the bottom
Every word within the poems that I write
The masks crumble at the tip of my pen
And I expose to you
The true me
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
Added by Poetry Lover
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