Bury it

Bury it

Another shovelful of dirt,

To cover up the hurt.

Another mouthful of lies,

To add to the disguise.

He looks like he’s okay.

He looks like he’s fine.

His shirt hides his flays,

His light no longer shines,

His demons haunt him day in and out,

He falls to his knees - screams and shouts,

But he keeps it to himself,

He hides his pain upon the shelf,

He tries to bury it all, in a 20 foot hole,

But is always reminded when thrice the bell tolls,

He cries alone, broken and despised,

By none other than himself, his self-esteem circumcised.

He cries out for a rescuer, a hero, a savior,

But who would help him, with his lackluster behavior?

Like Atlas he stands, the world on his back,

The countless worries of the populace, using him like a rack,

His grits his teeth and sobs, silently all the while,

Wondering what it was, exactly, that made him oh so vile,

But through the eyes of others, this isn't what they see,

They see the wonderful guy he is, the man he’ll someday be,

Now I don’t know about any of this, but what is true, I shall tell thee:

The man mentioned before, is none other than I, myself, and me.