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I’ll reply 
Online
To avoid my fears
In person
Till the keystrokes
Hide this grimace
Barely worthy
Of real 
Eyes

When such dreams
Each finger speaks
Finds new courage
Hitting enter
Sharing stories
Only backspaced
If these hands 
Should lie
Some more 

Telling strangers
How I’m fine
Even though
Those words 
Sit empty
Upon pages
Barely witnessed
Among forums
Marked for dead

Amid places 
Left untouched
Hidden well
But always calling
Out to people
Feeling desperate 
Where they plead 
Without
Much choice 

Searching nightly
For their chance 
Between voices
Crying lonely 
Across venues
Made of shyness 
Lighting stages
Bright 
At home 

Like my spotlight
Gone unseen 
Begging roses
Though  I edit 
Taking bows 
While growing 
Crippled
Living only  
Behind screens.

- J. Pigno

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Me

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Everyone always says that I'm beautiful or intelligent. Or the many variations of those words. But because of my upbringing, I don't see those things. I see a very damaged, broken, depressed, hideous monster. And I don't say that to get compliments. I say that because that's my truth. I just want you to understand, so here's some of my checkered past.
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