Softness

Sometimes when it's pouring tears
I can't understand all my fears
piled up and pushed aside
as I put on my mask and
pretend I'm not scared at all.

Trying to look all big and tall
with tears falling, I still can't bawl
because I'd look foolish
for bein' ‘fraid of things
that I just can't sight.

Still blinded by the power of fright
would I be curious, might
I discover why I'm so scared,
and how my mask, when worn,
still can't hide my softness.