Behind my secret eyes is a child who struggled with a cognitive disorder, always believing that perfection was always less than being perfect.
Behind my secret eyes is a teenager who struggled with telling the truth, for the fear that the truth was ignored, albeit right, yet was the only way to get my parents attention.
Behind my secret eyes is a college student who struggled with managing time, managing relationships with myself, with God and my sense of purpose.
Behind my secret eyes is a newly hatched husband, a broken shell, leaving the safety of a parent’s nest, taking the leap off the branch to spread my wings.
Behind my secret eyes is a father, not once but twice, always the friend, rarely the disciplinarian, wishing and dreaming dreams that won’t become reality, without the love, support and encouragement I rarely had growing up.
Behind my secret eyes is an employee, turned manager, turned employer, always questioning others and myself, to do what is right, not wrong, and to protect myself and those around me.
Behind my secret eyes is a poet, crafting a trade for over thirty years, in a profession that is declining, longing to be free of my anonymity, yet one in which words give me my sense of purpose.
Behind my secret eyes is simply, painfully me.
As originally published on Medium.