Our Paper Bags

I think we all wear paper bags
set like crowns upon our heads
and although they’re all the same pale brown
we paint them.

We take our markers, black and blue
and draw our faces, our points of view
The corners of our mouths upturned
always.

No one ever can really see,
what lays beneath your paper tree
The roots that extend down and down
and deep.

Because we like to hide our fears,
our worries, our stress, our weakling tears,
instead of risk, a paper bag is
appealing.

But when we step out in the rain,
the ink begins to run and stain,
everyone has a breaking point
they reach.

Why do we hide our thoughts inside?
The illnesses upon our minds
‘I’m fine, okay? don’t worry about
just me.’

When we hurt our legs we stretch them,
when our bones break we set them,
but instead of ‘help’ we search for
our paper bags.

We paint them gold and silver,
color our portraits with painted filters,
afraid of our problems are far too small;
we’re quiet.

But then you step out in the rain,
and my heart hurts as your color drains
and I wonder why you didn’t think
to tell me.

I think we all wear paper bags,
and I wish we’d take them off sometime
and feel the wet against our skin
together.

So let me take your crown away
and listen to what you have to say
Your thoughts are real; don’t ever think to
filter them.

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Poem Image credited to Solar-Citrus
Poem by Me