Behind a disguise of friendly eyes and a forced smile…
Lies a guy who on the inside feels like a lost child.
He sports style to support the game’s cost while…
Barely affording it through a short sense of guile.
His thoughts are idle; Stuck on dimes & appearance.
Cause for him it’s vital to shuck’n jive for clearance…
Past his peers & idols … But what they don’t hear is…
The tear drops in the sink,
When he looks in the mirror for a clearer spot to think.
Then jots his fears down to drown in the blotted ink.
He’s on the brink… of a break-down,
So he breaks down how he feels & takes out…
His aggression on the paper. Its no mistake how…
Stressing the pen transcends to a message of hate now.
He hates how he has to be straight fake just to stay down…
And feels like fate’s inmate that can’t wait to break out.
He’s afraid to be played out so his sharade continues.
And no one attempts to guess even with a parade of big clues.
It would have been big news…
But with their hearts made like igloos,
He’s stuck with the same decision he always DID choose….
Silence.
Hoping there eyelids stayed shut to prevent any violence
He prays for there blinders every night as a reminder…
Of why the… world is kinder when his kind’s in the dark…
And they don’t have to see, hear or listen to his remarks.
So his heart's place is a space parked low in the shadow…
Until he finds strength in his soul to embark in the battle.
For now though…
The closet door is pressed against his face
As he’s hoping for courage to knock…
So he can open up and Unmask …..
Cause it was never really locked.
Out of the closet.
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