Behind the bedroom door

Under the bleachers

Pulling into the garage

Changing clothes

In the bathroom

In the bath


In these moments

Others can’t see

What makes you tick

What makes you free

Exposed to God's eyes alone

No one sees you

Until they've seen you at home

Your true self is not available to the naked eye

No matter how hard people might try

They'll never know the truth behind your walls

Until they come with a bulldozer and jamb them all

By bulldozer I mean truth

By truth I mean love

By love I mean someone comes in,

Sees the mess behind the door

And sits down for coffee with you anyway

There’s a veil hanging

Over everyday things

When you get home it is taken off

And you heart really sings

It may be a song of sadness and despair

Or it may be a song of gladness and care

Freedom like no other

To be who you want to be

Behind closed doors the messy goes unseen


  • Author: Leya Virago (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 3rd, 2019 19:52
  • Comment from author about the poem: I guess I was thinking a lot about the character of people; including my own, where we are not always what we seem. I like to think I am fairly consistent throughout my day, but there are parts of me, crevices in my soul, and quirky little nothings that others don't see when I am by myself. I thought it was an interesting thing to write about. Read or don't; but if you do don't you dare leave without commenting!
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 21
  • User favorite of this poem: whisperingquill.
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