He is blunt
and his words are hurtfull
I would love to deny them
but he is…damn him! right.
I walk around pretending
conjuring bullshit in my head
Convincing myself that my past is dead.
But it’s not.
At least, not like it should be.
I created this room –
a wretched , horrid place
with birds, pictures and ghosts
I shoved inside there things
I hated the most.
And I lost
The key
The will
The courage
to face that creepy crap.
I am a great convincer
I forced myself
to forget about that.
What a surprise
one day the door cracked
and that hideous lot
roared: escape me not!
“What a shitstorm!” I thought
and run
Till I could
and I would have escaped
If it wouldn’t been late
And I wasn’t aware
That this crazed stare
is my own.
So I have manned up
and gave them a slap.
It worked, as splendidly
As you can already guess
My past was alive
and my confidence was dead.
It became uncomfortable
It’s shameful and complicated
But I dedicated
A decade to hide my monsters
and they have grown.
“What a shitstorm.” I thought
and walked inside
The door.
