Naive Me

So, they say that words have power that we create matter, but all of my words haven't felt like they have power. When the pitter patter of my feet felt the street. When in my dreams my words stopped things. But in the world, what did they mean? Caressing ice winds and heat filled blows didn’t stop, when my head said no, didn’t end, when my soul let go. When my words were free, I was not. But then again, all those words were just silent thoughts. I’m not a genius with words. I don’t wield weapons hid in short stanzas filled with poetic devices, what they teach in world lit. No, I sit. And I think how I can say what I can’t say. How I can tell the world, and still stay A stranger, far away removed, and insane. I’m brave enough to ink the thoughts to give a little, not a lot. To let someone into my double mirrored room. You can’t see me and I can’t see you. My eyes still blind still young and naive so I’ll still hide until I can see, if this world can handle my story, The Real Me.