I've come to realize I'm incredibly insecure.
In fact I'm so insecure that no one knows who I am.
I don't know who I am.
Nor do I know what I'm about.

I've come to realize that I come off as stupid.
In fact only when I write do I give off some intelligence.
I no longer feel secure in who I am,
but only when I write do I feel secure.

I used to deny wearing that mask.
But the more I live like this the more I realize my mask is on,
and it's a convincing mask.
No one knows who I am.

Nor do I.

It's not that I'm not individual.
I am. Without a doubt.
But rather I have two different personas,
I am not living as one.

I live as two.

In real life I am one person,
In real life I am care-free,
In real life I am stupid,
Not an intelligent thing to be said.

Beneath my pen I am someone else,
Beneath my pen I am caring,
Beneath my pen I am smart,
It's wisdom alongside smarts,

Sometimes I am modest too,
With not a bit of arrogance,
Not always can that be true.

In person I joke,
Beneath my pen I joke as well.
A rare commonality.

It's not that I don't like to come off as stupid,
It's fun.
But I also like to be caring,
I like to give advice.

I like to share.

I am insecure in every action I do.
Yet, they say I am comfortable in my own skin.

I've said I was comfortable in my own skin,
I believed it for my whole life,
Everyone has,
I didn't alter my looks,
I didn't cover it with make-up,
Nor did I change my body,
I left my natural beauty.

I by no means was insecure with my looks,
If I do say myself I am rather dashing,
I am insecure with what I stand for.

I struggle to share,
I struggle to express,
I struggle to let people know I care.

I use my humor as a shield.
I gave up on trying to be a wise person a while ago,
I did what I was good at.
And now, I want to go back.
I want to be more than just a goof-ball.

But I'm insecure,
I don't know where to start,
I tremble when I talk with my brain,
I am good at joking,
But I tremble when I am serious.

I shake.

I was told I was a good public speaker,
Strip away my humor,
And then what do you have?

A shaker.
I shake.

I am insecure.
In everything,
Except for my writing,
But even then I go too deep.

Why can't I be good at speaking,
Like I know something.

Why do I hide?
I am insecure.

On the outside I am not,
But more-so than anyone else I hide.