though it's easy for me
to be kind, and to see—

why is it, that strangers get more love from me

than my family?

i'm not perfect, no
still, i think i outta show
those i know,
those who see me at my low...

my love; that which i seem to be filled of

they need to know
before i bury my woes
and continue to pretend
again and again—

i'm sorry, i know this is a poem
but even i fear vulnerability.
sometimes it's not easy for me to see—
even i struggle to provide the bare minimum.