There's a part of me, living in silence—
Something only available to the unknown.
It opens its door only to strangers,
For it no longer needs justification.
It comes alive when all that's left is darkness,
For in darkness it finds its light.
It is afraid to speak to those who know its fear,
Who know when it is most vulnerable.
Years on, I've protected it from everyone
Who tried to peek at what's hidden—
The storms of greedy eyes, the naked self,
And, most of all, its own body.
There's an awful lot of me
They don't know.
But there's only a fraction of me
That I still don't know.