I am running out of reasons,

Not to show the world my poetry.

So I'll write a poem.

Something simple.

Something unique.

And in front of the class,

Even though my voice shakes,

And I nitpick at the choice of clothes.

And I am running out of excuses,

To hide the things people expect me too.

Acting like those scars aren't there, 

No, I won't hide that fact anymore.

And I am running out of ways to hide the things I do,

So maybe I can invite you to come with me,

I can tell you the things,

The things I should have told you long ago.