My image is perceived by the smile on my face.
The care that I give.
The impact I make.
But my touch grows rigid.

Cold and passive.
My eyes stare at myself,
And see me for who I really am.
My eyes aren’t blinded by the masked image in the mirror.

That reflection is who I really am.
Those eyes speak louder than words.
Happiness and sadness all contained in those eyes.
Reflecting not who I am, but what I am.

Tainted by experiences.
What’s best for me,
Hides behind what I desire.
Commonly misguided.

I barricade my emotions,
To disclose them from ever being exposed.
Prevented from growing.
That door remains closed.

Because I know it way too well.
I use lust to comfort me.
Moments of intimacy that never dwell,
Into feelings that I trap from being free.

It’s not for me.