Afraid

I am afraid of who I really am.

when everyone has gone to sleep,
when the music stops,
when there is nothing left to distract me from myself.

I am afraid of how deeply I feel things.

How a random memory from years ago
can ruin my entire evening.
How I still miss people
I no longer talk to.
How I replay conversations in my head
and wonder if I should have said something different.

I am afraid that I care too much.

That I get attached too easily.
That I keep pieces of people with me
long after they have moved on.

I am afraid of the anger I never show,
the sadness I joke about,
the guilt I carry for things
that probably weren’t even my fault to begin with.

Sometimes I look at myself
and see contradictions everywhere.

I want people to know me,
but I hide.
I want to be loved,
but I keep waiting for everyone to leave.
I want to be honest,
but the words get stuck somewhere
between my heart and my mouth.

The truth is,
I am not afraid of being a bad person.

I am afraid of being seen completely.

Of someone noticing every insecurity,
every strange thought,
every scar I pretend isn’t there,
and deciding I am too difficult to love.

And then I wonder why nobody understands me.
I am not afraid of who I am.

I am afraid that if I finally let people see me,
they won’t stay.