I am the child of my soul

What do you call the lie that wants to tell the truth? What do you call the hesitation that wants to dare? I can’t remember their names but I know they are the ones that dim the lights in the room every time I undo the buttons of my soul and open my shirt to reveal my chest to my authenticity. Why do I feel that I betrayed everything I have forgotten? How I became the brilliant idiot who can answer almost anything except for what my soul wants to ask me? The same way I managed for years at the end of every evening stealing what my cleverness had already stolen from me during that day. Could this be the way loneliness ends up stealing the 1 from the uniqueness of her owner? Maybe it’s time I realize that a soul’s ugliness can be much more ambitious than her beauty.