We might change our acts or deeds,
But we’re still just who we are,
Pretending that we’re someone else,
A facade pinned on our scars,
Though many aren’t allowed to see,
Who’s behind the stoic mask,
For the person in the mirror,
Hiding’s an impossible task.
We insure that no one sees,
By our acts and our omissions,
How high our wall seems to be,
Or how low under certain conditions,
We might hide because of pain,
Or does environment make us this way,
And though we hold on to certain things,
Does the wall grow every day.
It has nothing to do with opinions,
But judgement and assumptions can,
It’s not about our prior acts,
It’s about what’s in woman and man,
If we’re mummified by pain,
If it’s the only embrace we feel,
Everything else is secondary,
Because the pain becomes all that’s real.
It doesn’t have to be just pain,
Imprisonment has lots of reasons,
Some are good and some are bad,
Just the changing of the seasons,
We can not change events now gone,
Yet some things are worth the time,
And if that’s the thing we remember most,
The heart might be just fine.
At times it has to be enough,
To have yet not to hold,
To know there’s someone who feels the same,
Who apart feels just as cold,
There are moments when we wish,
The emotion would wither and die,
But a quick glimpse in the mirror,
Shows it’s alive inside the eyes.
Even if we’re products of pain,
It’s about the good things with time we find,
It’s about looking in our mirror,
And saying, Im glad that face is mine,
Construction of the wall then ceases,
We build up what we’ve torn down,
I believe that love is real,
And with you, is where it’s found.