My thoughts my secret
All my happiness, all my sadness,
and my anger and my fret
Which, inside me, turns to madness.
I let go, sometimes
hopping for excitement
or confessing for my crimes
and wailing for disappointment.
I am afraid, scared
to let others know,
how I have fared.
Otherwise I’ll put on a show.
So I turn to paper,
to write, speak, express
or to my mirror,
and explain the mess.
I am like a flame,
appearing controlled,
not difficult to tame.
But inside I’m burning
with these thoughts restless
But without them, life wouldn’t be living.