Insecurity

I ask of you only to conceal my rage, a task so simple, for the world is not a stage.

I ask that my pride be served to a lesser degree, for the sight from my eyes, is for my eyes only to see.

The thoughts of others are concealed within the mind, and where left to shadowed glances, are oh so easy to find.

The pleasure of the vision is condemned for none to see, unless the virtue of the vision is only visible by me.

The gift that is given, and received with pure intent, should remain within the confines, and it's borders never bent.

Or stretched across the boundaries of an imaginary stage, I ask of you only, please conceal my rage.