He put up walls
to hide his heart
his love of poetry
his love of art
He should be vulnerable
He should be real
but then his heart breaks
when he removes the seal
He doesn't know why
its so hard to cry
to let others in
to express whats within
He is really trying
but then relapses
acting stupid
like pugnacious asses
The first time
He wrote a poem
he was mocked
his heart was broken
When everything is a joke
vulnerability isn't needed
one can get by
without being heeded
Its almost a reflex
this impulse inside
to obtain cheap laughs
with stupid gaffes
Then when he's alone
he feels the pain once again
the fact that he is lonely
with no real friends
No one he truly trusts
No one to feel free
to wonder at a sunset
and explore underneath
The surface conversation
that masks what is real
and get to the truth
of how we truly feel
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