I'm sure someone said life's story would be written differently if
one let oneself go, if
one's interior is seen, fluctuating freely.
Whoever said that made a difference.
I'm rumored to be open, but
my quivering mouth evaded
feeling, mind.
Through my eyes privacy slips.
Would anyone understand
when crying I promised the truth,
It's only that I am
happy, and now there's everything
to fear, most to lose.
And if this was accepted,
does that mean he, also, is okay
entering without expectation,
staring down at a face that can
easily be either void of mood or
severely dissimilar.
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