Poetry. I never could say how I truly felt. I hid it. Maybe I felt a twisted comfort in my self made isolation. That my feelings were valid. That I knew. Knew. That no one could ever really 'understand' how you feel. That your exact intentions would never, never, be known to any one person. Only yourself. It broke my heart a little. And life. Being a struggle for understanding. Of yourself. Others. The world. And we try to find the words. The exact ones to say. But my words get muddled by emotion. Mostly hurt and fear. I'm afraid. Of judgment. Of confrontation. My words. I make them passive and uncontroversial. To hide. My existence. Me.