Do you know what scares me?

Do you know what scares me? That there are versions of me that some will never get to see. Like my mom, will she ever understand that beauty I find in the written word and spoken tongue, will she ever get that life goes beyond all that we see, and say. That I am feelings, that there are things I believe in and that there are lines and lines of words that string together to create my soul.

Do you know what scares me? That there are versions of me that some will never get to see.
Like the guidance counselor at high school who busted me for smoking pot, instead of trying to keep me focused on the things I was not. Who was more worried about the schools name, then about what and who I became.

Do you know what scares me? That there are versions of me that some will never get to see. Like that kid I once bullied, who's day I ruined because I wanted to be better. And now all I am is sorry, that all I was, was a broken mess in a crappy school dress trying to figure out ways to find my way in the haze of an education so cruel; killing my creativity, nothing I was eating there filling me.

Do you know what scares me? That there are versions of me that some will never get to see. Like my ex girlfriends mom, who still probably thinks I'm smoking a bong and biting her daughter. She'll never know about the feelings in me, that are leading me to be better, better for me.

Do you know what scares me? That there are versions of me that some will never get to see. Like that priest who heard my confession, who I told about the women I loved, and the things I cried about. He'll never know that he did almost nothing for my soul, that he didn't change a thing. He just hated on me, for being me.

Do you know what scares me? That there are people who will never meet me, that will never encounter my mind and take the time to learn about me, about the things I could be. That I could never change their mind, about things they believed truly defined them.