He meant to be both good and true.

But where he was was who he’d be

He would not wish to lie to you.

He thought he knew just who to be

Yet acted inconsistently.

 

He’d different faces, different lives.

His life so lacked integrity

That all the lives he lived were lies;

 

Not really sure of who he was.

Or who it was he meant to be.

A face for faces that he met

He was not whole, he was not free.

 

He couldn’t be true, would often forget

What he was for and who he was.

He couldn’t live authentically.

He hid himself afraid they’d see.

The self he’d hidden deep inside.

His hidden vulnerability.

 

He could not show them who he was.

Something deep inside had died.

 

Morgue-file photo by vickiayala