Nothing Less than Truth
The truth is, I fear
(that no one understands:
why I threw away the keys,
why my heart is locked,
guarded by invisible insecurities,
that you need more than a knife,
to hack away thick thorns of judgment,
that a Mean Girl's stare leaves me emptier,
more full of cold doubt than ever before
that I am worthless:
an old vestige of my parent's pride,
a reminder of some gilded age,
now marked by blazing Fs that imprint
behind my eyelids so that even in Sleep,
wrapped by mellow, star-studded blankets,
swimming 'neath shallow childhood memories,
the monster lurks in the closet upstairs and
nothing is safe.
that I am insufficient:
overestimated so that behind jeweled hairclips,
stripped of cherry lips and puckered smiles,
there isn't a person under armor, just fear--
of losing the game I've gambled too much to play,
of free-falling while running,
'til my feet can't catch the ground
and I am lost again.)
nothing.