Does he want to stay hidden, reclusive within darkness, far away from light,
Or does he want to let his skills be laid bare, for people to acknowledge him for him,
The very thought scares him, it makes his heart rate go up,
He wonders why it's this hard to come forward with things,
Why it's hard to talk about what he's actually good at,
For other people, it feels easy, they can go on long captivating monologues,
And tell inspiring tales of what love doing,
Whenever he tries, the words either get stuck in his mouth,
Or he finds himself rambling about things unrelated, far from what he intended to say.
He wonders if he should tell people about what he's done,
The tasks he'd poured so much energy into, and left him looking like a spent cell,
But he's sat there wondering if they're any good, if they're as good as what he's seen with others,
They showcase projects with so much grandeur, it would make kings flush,
He takes a look at what he's done and doesn't look like things beggars would touch,
He feels bad with himself and wonders why he even put in that much work,
Maybe he's not just cut out like the rest, someone who won't amount to much.
He wonders if he should talk at all, if he should make his voice heard,
It doesn't look like it would have any effect, like it would cause hearts to sway,
He listens to other people say powerful things, and cause mountains to move with the parting of their lips,
Maybe he'd talk and no one would stop to listen,
And they'd treat him like they would a preacher on the street, disturbing the peace without any concern for others,
He feels he'd just stay silent, and lock up all the words deep inside him,
It's not like they were bound to have any effect, it's not like he could inspire change.