I’m scared of what you’ll notice next if you care to read between the lines.
Unrestricted access to the deepest levels of my mind.
Letting my soul pour through this ink on these pages;
I worry I'm dissected and scrutinized whenever I'm on stages.
Who’d have thought words I wrote in my room would reach so many faces?
I never used to write for others, just tried to figure out where my place is.
I realize now that artistic expression comes at the cost of public perception.
An open book laid bare, there for all to read;
I, the artist, am defined by public opinion.
My body of work and my being are either one and the same,
Or very hard to distinguish.
My life and my rhymes, that line is hard to delimit.
My biggest fear being that you know me better than I do myself.
I find it weird to learn about this stranger in the mirror from another I never met.
Listen to the poem here.
