10.01.2003
Who's Gonna Protect Me?
Alone in a room | It's just me and you | I feel so lost | 'Cause I don't know what to do | Now what if I choose the wrong thing to do | I'm so afraid, afraid of disappointing you... ~Yolanda Adams
I don't like to admit my shortcomings. I don't like to admit my fears. I don't like to admit that I do not always know the right things to say or do. I am after all an American male. By nature we are reared to be know it alls, for all occaisions. So admitting ones incapability's is like denoucing all that is wholesome and American. So what's a man to do?
For close to twenty years I have been afraid to be me. Afraid to open up and allow Chris to shine through. Afraid to show my fragileness, because my fear of fears has always warned me: you will be abandoned.
So I hid.
In my mind I was protecting those I loved. I was protecting...you. That's what I told myself: They wouldn't understand. It's better this way. And for a while it was. It was better to lie. It was better to pretend. It was better because in the end, no one would get hurt. No one. No one...not even me.
But I did get hurt. Protecting you, hurt me. Wondering how you would feel if you found out the un-thinkable-the-un-scripturable-the-un-mentionable-the-un----
I lay hurt for a long time. Hoping--praying--fucking wishing someone would just notice and say: "hey...it's okay, I love you man--you..."
Wondering if I would have to carry this weight around forever, and ever, amen. Wondering if--no--when you found out, would you with your perfect life, perfect love, and even more perfect morals be able to look at me in all my humaness and say: "out of everyone who loves you, I love you the most...so yo, don't worry. I got your back."
In the end who's gonna protect me? Who's gonna have my back? Who, now that you know, all there is to know...
I don't like to admit my shortcomings. I don't like to admit my fears. I don't like to admit that I do not always know the right things to say or do. I am after all an American male. By nature we are reared to be know it alls, for all occaisions. So admitting ones incapability's is like denoucing all that is wholesome and American. So what's a man to do?
For close to twenty years I have been afraid to be me. Afraid to open up and allow Chris to shine through. Afraid to show my fragileness, because my fear of fears has always warned me: you will be abandoned.
So I hid.
In my mind I was protecting those I loved. I was protecting...you. That's what I told myself: They wouldn't understand. It's better this way. And for a while it was. It was better to lie. It was better to pretend. It was better because in the end, no one would get hurt. No one. No one...not even me.
But I did get hurt. Protecting you, hurt me. Wondering how you would feel if you found out the un-thinkable-the-un-scripturable-the-un-mentionable-the-un----
I lay hurt for a long time. Hoping--praying--fucking wishing someone would just notice and say: "hey...it's okay, I love you man--you..."
Wondering if I would have to carry this weight around forever, and ever, amen. Wondering if--no--when you found out, would you with your perfect life, perfect love, and even more perfect morals be able to look at me in all my humaness and say: "out of everyone who loves you, I love you the most...so yo, don't worry. I got your back."
In the end who's gonna protect me? Who's gonna have my back? Who, now that you know, all there is to know...
