You can’t see what’s behind the

front, you’ll never know what’s there,

my secrets preserved, reasons

my own, suffice to say these

circumstances demand self

defence; were I to let on

reality, I’d crumble.

 

So I control what folk see,

protecting them from my truth,

no need to burden all with

harshness and gloom, that’s secret,

my safety inherent in

that secret – no need to explain,

life’s easier at arm’s length.

 

But here: a chip, a chink called

emotion – a tentative

trust, a slight slip – honesty

brings support, not ridicule:

folk’s wisdom rewarding my

hesitant front removal.

 

I never realised my

own belief of my own hype,

that I mis-led myself, saw

a skewed reality; now

I trust myself deeper, calmer; as

a friend to myself again.

 

With trusted folk, there’s no need

for self-defence, the front has

slipped into the past, become

an old incarnation, which

I hope won’t become once more

necessary, in my new,

friendly, safe reality.