I once wrote a letter to a lover and told him this;
If you really want to know me, take a look in the mirror.
And the same still stands true.
Of course, I could make you a list of finite things (And I do love to make lists.)
But my favourite colour (sometimes pink, sometimes blue)
The year I was born (1985)
Won’t tell you the most important things about me. (Or the most important things about you.)
There’s nothing so different that sets us apart.
It’s all simply superficial,
if you cut the matter straight to the heart.
We all carry with us similar worries and fears
we’re all full of the same questions.
All of us bleed the same blood
Cry the same tears.
Yet we still divide,
Still split ourselves down arbitrary lines,
Whittling our way down to those sacred few.
The one’s we trust to laugh at the right times.
We share our secret worlds in sacrosanct spheres…
With those initiated…
And let’s face it. That might not be you.
Have I ever met you?
Well, we might never meet.
But you’re reading my words.
Here’s my temple, and your front row seat.
You might have read some, and wondered…
Who wrote that?
What are they like?
So here you are. Ready to have your questions,
Ready to learn…
I’m afraid of you.
Afraid of your quick judgement,
of your overlooking, and your looking down.
Your unknown thoughts, unknown sentiments are sometimes, a source of agonizing anxiety.
So, what about me?
Trapped here on the other side.
You’re reading my words,
and I wonder about you.
Who are you?
What are you like?
You’re like a phantom to me. A ghost.
There is no handy way I can find out more about you.
Sometimes, it frightens me to share myself with strangers
to throw off anonymity’s cloak.
Because we are always safe behind the walls we’ve built.
And what will you do to mine…
Now I’ve invited you inside?