Paintbrush

I keep my paint brush with me
Wherever I may go,
In case I need to cover up
So the real me doesn’t show.
I’m so afraid to show you me,
Afraid of what you’ll do - that
You might laugh or say mean things.
I’m afraid I might lose you.
I’d like to remove all my paint coats
To show you the real, true me,
But I want you to try and understand,
I need you to accept what you see.
So if you’ll be patient and close your eyes,
I’ll strip off all my coats real slow.
Please understand how much it hurts
To let the real me show.
Now my coats are all stripped off.
I feel naked, bare and cold,
And if you still love me with all that you see,
You are my friend, pure as gold.
I need to save my paint brush, though,
And hold it in my hand,
I want to keep it handy
In case somebody doesn’t understand.
So please protect me, my dear friend
And thanks for loving me true,
But please let me keep my paintbrush with me
Until I love me, too.

--Bettie B. Youngs

A poem I koped from my friend's blog. Sheesh. I'm feeling emo now... that I've met my friends whom I realise I really really miss. Friends whom I'm so comfortable with. People I can be vulnerable to. People I trust. People who see me for me. People I feel safe with.

Paintbrush in hand,
Layers of paint,
walking alone.
Safe in an isolated world.