For The World To See...

Is my heart satisfied enough that my angel can look away?
Have I got wings of my own so that I don't have to pray?
If the doors are open for endless dreams,
Am I enough for the world to see?

I disguise, 
I paralyse, 
I criticise times of my life,
I endure,
I torture,
I nurture parts of my mind,

With hazy eyes I succumb to the peril's of my destiny, 
For what am I made of? 
Childish dreams? 
Heartfelt Poems? 
A reflection of my anatomy? 

With every fibre of my body,
With every feeling from my heart,
With every word I want to say,
I can say this;

Pages dressed in emotional leather, 
The scent of a worried traveller, 
Should I pen a majestic masterpiece? 
Should my heart break or should I release? 

I've struggled to write now for what seem like months, 
My heart is too full, I just feel like giving up, 
I want to feel again, 
I want to feel that magic, 
The kind of magic that writes itself, 
The kind that me and my imagination create fire! 
But it hurts me, 
It leaves me hollow and searching for an aching desire! 
The paper cuts me deep, 
As deep as a loving father reaches, 
Line after line, 
Ink pours like the life in my veins, 
Time after time, 
I cry to the people who read in pain. 

I shelter my own love, 
I cover myself up in the words I understand, 
I caress my own thoughts;
Only to make sense of my lonely poetic plan, 

Am I enough, 
Am I enough for the world to see?