There are wounds that I cause
because I'd rather
have the veneer of acceptability
than face my inadequacy.
How often have I kept
a smile on my face
rather than break down
in tears
or drop to the floor
out of sheer
exhaustion?
How often have I
berated my own child's
irrepressible bursts
of energy
to keep a room quiet
for strangers?
Why is it that
I would rather suffer
than tell you how
I feel?
We are all side by side,
wounded and
wondering why
we have not
reached
out.
I'm here,
I'm here.
I am wrenching myself
from the cage
of my own convenience.
Here is my
(Nov. 9, 2009)
Image from www.laurentbrouat.com
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