Shame
I see you all the time across the room.
You wear shame like an old ratty coat.
Underneath the coat you dress sharp
trying to disguise yourself to the world.
In the dark do you tell yourself that all is fine,
that this is just the way that you were made?
But yet, forced into the light
of that bright flaming thing that you adore,
you really feel this shame instead.
Perhaps the intense truth of the thing you adore
forces the lie into stark relief.
Or perhaps that bright thing is tarnished itself,
fueling within you
shame that is a lie.
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