Please hear what I’m not saying….cnt’d

I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear being exposed.

That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

a nonchalant sophisticated facade, to help me pretend,

to sheild me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation.

My only hope, and I know it.

That is, if it’s followed by acceptance,

if it’s followed by love.

It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself,

from my own self-built prison walls,

from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

It’s the only thing that will assure me

of what I can’t assure myself,

that I’m really worth something.

I don’t like to hide.

I don’t like to play superfical phony games.

I want ot stop playing them.

I want to be genuime and spontaneous and me,

but you’ve got to help me.

You’ve got to hold out your hand

even when that’s the last thing I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes

the bland stare of the breathing dead.

Only you can call me into aliveness.

 

Each time you’re kind and gentle and encouraging,

each time you try to understand because you really care,

my heart begins to grow wings, very small wings,

very feeble wings,

but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling

you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that.

 

Who am I, you may wonder.

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man you meet,

and I am every woman you meet.

 

 

Poem by Jill Zevallos-Solak