Bitter Truth

Words are such a tricky art
--or so it seems.
My want is to express myself
and be free,
Without concern for guilt or pain,
for them or me.
And yet I hide my pretty lines
from certain stares.

I long to peel myself apart
--a poet’s dream.
Nail the pieces to a wall
for them to see.
From time to time I drag another
with me.
Hanging, bare before them
--is it fair?
They may not look, they may not care,
but it’s there.
Bleeding and exposed
in rancid air.

The End

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