Poetry . . . Gift or Curse?

My only form of therapy

The way to share how I feel

My time to really work things out

The only way to deal.

But it also gives away secrets

Some are not ready to hear

Hiding them becomes harder

Reactions generate fear

How do you gain acceptance

When you reject yourself

How are you to be understood

When you put your feelings on the shelf

Hidden from the world I stay

Until a poem opens the door

Some try to shut it in my face

And others beg for more

I thought I found my open door

A friend within your eyes

But the blue hues of acceptance

Where just reflection of the ice

I've never seen anyone

Who could build faster a wall of brick

Communication was cut off

The air grew suffocatingly thick

You proved to be just another

Who would rather pass by

Then to stay and hold on to me

Because it's too hard to try

All I wanted was your approval

I wanted you to say my work was good

But your words of gold never came to me

Why did I think they should?

I understand your reaction

That maybe you're a bit scared

Your rejection was only due

To the fact that you cared

But now I sit and wonder

If these lines that can't be rehearsed

Will one day prove themselves

as a gift or a curse. . . .