She is a bashful, smiling enigma

Courteous to others, harsh on herself

With only the slightest trace of melancholy

Flickering almost imperceptively

Across her face.

Only a rare few ever see beyond the pleasantness

She gladly defers to others to avoid herself

Deflecting questions like a super power

She will listen for ages about anything

But the depths of herself.

Deep down she yearns to be understood

To share her dark chapters as if to unleash

The rise of insecurities born from her mistakes

But her past feels to her like anvils

Carried too far, too long,

Instead of letting them go,

She hides.

Published by Quietest Poet

Writer, mother, counselor, flower gardener, recipe seeker, and Netflix lover.

2 thoughts on “Hiding

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