When I’m alone, I’m alone with myself,
But alone may not be what it seems.
For myself can be trusted to always be there
And never makes fun of my dreams.
But myself knows myself and accepts what it finds,
And makes no demands on my soul.
So I cling to that heart where the best of me lives,
for that clinging makes sure that’s it’s whole.
I peel away slowly the armor I wear,
That armor protects all that’s me.
And the me that’s inside is fragile indeed,
It’s been hidden where no one can see.
When I hold onto me, it’s not that I’m cold,
It’s not that I don’t want to share.
It’s all that I’ve learned and the grip of my mind
That makes any sharing so rare.
My ego is tender, it’s what makes me, me.
I hide it behind a closed door.
I open that door just a crack at a time,
And only a crack, never more.