Phobia

The fear of revealing one's self.

I have nothing to say.

 

No passion to speak of.

No dreams to preach.

No love to relay.

 

So many times have I seen

a man, a woman, a child

stand up and speak, and recite

poetry. Wonderful poetry

 

from the heart.

They put their soul

their existence,

their entirety into this piece.

 

And I cannot do that.

 

This ability to speak freely,

to break down the walls and let the world see,

all the dark misgivings

and all the hidden truths

 

many that I do not yet know of.

I cannot allow that.

I cannot do that.

That is not me.

 

How is that anyone?

I ask, I wonder

can people really let this invasion of privacy,

this discomfort of the mind

 

 

take a hold of their consciousness

and pen these shadows on to paper?

Black ink stains the sheets

encoding it with meanings so deep

and dark

and personal

and individual

 

that I would not be myself

if I were to let them out.

These thoughts, they are spirits

in a cage, locked with a key

 

thrown away,

to the far reaches of existence

where no one will find them.

Ever.

 

These ideas, they are

drops of rain

leaking down the cracks in the sidewalk

being stepped upon by numerous clothed limbs.

 

They are hidden from view,

where no one can see,

can read, can note, can understand

what they are meant to say.

 

For these are my misgivings,

that I am not prone to share.

They are my thoughts

behind a lock.

 

And a key.

Author's Note

This is my first ever try on spoken word poetry. I'd love to know what you think.
PS. I'm not quite sure if psychology was the right genre. Correct me if I'm wrong?