Held to standards created in my own mind,
never enforced or planted by others...
Carving out an existence based on childhood fears.
Eight year old me, only girl on the team,
but man...I had something to prove.
What was I thinking?
Still, the spotlight is magnetic. I must get them talking.
I don't care what they think...
tough talk, denial
It's Little Abner meets Conrad Birdie
and the steps to the center stage
are marked in bullshit
Who am I hoping to please?
Shaved heads and permanent ink
Sure you don't care what they think?
Caught up in trying to please, my head is messed
On the outside...I fight tooth and nail
On the inside...well, who can see the inside?
So what does it matter?
Existing in a constant game of blame
Armor like titanium
even my own common sense cannot pierce it
fifteen years in a fog of my own making
I point fingers
I shift positions
I dye my hair
Now that it's grown back.
I squeeze myself to fit into what is expected
Silk blouses and three inch heels
Proper talk, business lunch, bull and the bears
and still the armour stays strong
I've no clue that inside I'm dying.
Ten years later...it might be too hard to come back
How long do you live a lie
before it becomes your truth.
The real me is still here somewhere
The lie has faith in that
I sense the fear that comes with being found out
Poser, Painter, Candlestick maker
the truth is always revealed
in the words.
It's Stuart (AKA @StuMcP) taking over the dVerse stage this afternoon for Poetics...rumor has it we might be delving into some fearful waters...and really, what is to be feared more than our real selves...my little lady is slowly working her way back to the light...fair warning!