The Hidden
Cruel concealment of all that craves
a life beyond the premature graves;
mewls in a pitying desperate way
and stutters and falters with nothing to say.
I agitate wildly to tell how I feel
like a butterfly broke on the span of a wheel;
a jigsaw of visions which constitute me,
the pieces don't fit so nobody can see.
The hidden emotions, they spiral and swirl
in a carnival craze, a perpetual whirl;
frustrated, cart wheeling around and around:
how I wish for a time when the hidden is found.
I reel with the pleading ablaze in my eyes,
and fight to break free of my brilliant disguise,
so that you may appreciate how much you mean
with the hidden uncovered, no longer unseen.
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