To My Hidden Self

People murmur that I am unpleasant because they say that I give the world myself. They lie. They lie. The one that rises up in my verses is not your voice: it is my voice because you are a curtain and the essence is me; and the deepest abyss lies between the two.

You are expressive and wasteful but I am not. I am as simple as a minimalist but I have a creative personality like a brush on a canvas.

I am a closed door waiting to be opened. However, you are an open book that puts everything out there for all to read, unknown to the idea of ​​secrecy of when and where you should stop talking.

You are a portal of sadness, but I am a sincere helper for good, through volunteering and serving for my community.

I share smiles in the world with my sense of humor as you extend your failures and perceptions about humanity and the world in general.

You are as stupid as a rock sometimes because nobody is perfect and everyone makes mistakes. I am as wise as an owl, spreading my wings to fly towards greatness, because I have so much knowledge that I learned, stored in my brain.

I accept my imperfections because it shapes my identity. You are afraid and insecure to show your true self.

I am a girl with pimples and redness as prevalent in my face as violence in the world. You are of natural beauty embracing your perfect face.

You are selfish, insecure, and a beauty for all people to see. You must be more like your hidden self. I'm sure of who I am. I'm comfortable in my own skin. I'm a worker. I'm dedicated. I'm sincere. I'm funny. I'm happy with myself. I'm unique. It's me.