Stories Central To Me Poem by Mark Heathcote

There are stories central to me.
See how I bleed internally, wanting to break free?
Tears in my eyes I've long disguised 
Are breaking a dam, I've long devised to stand. 
Will separate me from you, filled with hurt.
The who behind the who has nothing to do with you. 
Who is going out of their mind in all directions?
Who isn't even near the core of their true beginnings?
There are stories central to me.
There are still battlefields I can't explain.
And I won't ever confess, not here or now.
Not ever, so please learn to forgive me.
Because I can't forgive myself, which is always much worse.
So from my real self, I hide,
Let others pull my strings, and control my mind.
Oh, what a rotten minefield being alive and primed to fire!
So take my love and lust as gifts.
There are some stories with whom you have no one to trust.
But they're just central to all of us.