Iceberg

You know why I don't open up? Do you really know why I can't open up?
Because you're not ready to know what I'm thinking.
And I don't think you'll ever be.
If you got scared by that, oh, dear,
that's just the tip of the iceberg.

You just don't know me.
You may think you do, but you don't.
Because there is so much more than this.
This.
This is just a shell, a mere piece of the puzzle.
It's not even an accurate piece of the puzzle.
Even though I'm trying to polish it,
You can't do but think you know me just by that piece.

Because, that piece, that mask,
which protects me and hurts me at the same time,
holds me back.
In a good way, because it prevents me to rip your thoats off sometimes.
In a bad way, because it keeps me held up in between bars, shouting.

Can I really be one whole? Can I reach what's inside, grab it, and pull it out?
Can I really shine as I shine inside?

Anyway, you'll never know.
Because you're afraid of it.
You're afraid of me.
You know there's something more deep down,
it's just not so deep down,
and you're just too petrified to go any further.
Because the dark part of me...
the big part of me...
will be never known.

Not by you, at least.