I write poems not for the glory,

not for recognition.

It's because I have a story

that I need to tell myself.

To let myself know

if It is not real on earth,

It is alive in my mind, though

no one can perseive the scene.

My Mind. The place where the safest secrets lie

and try to convince me the world knows otherwise.

That the world takes fragile me,  looks on the inside,

and does not see what I see.

The world that changes, rearranges 

to make me "better," more worldly,

all the while I fight against the strangeness

to save my childlike fantasy.

Until I                       stop

run to the refuge I find

in the Book when I let my guard drop.

The One who smoothes over my brokenness and makes me pure.