after “Tired” by Langston Hughes

CW: vivid descriptions of inner darkness

Am I ashamed?

Am I weary from holding it in?

Wearing masks of discretion and defeat.

Why don’t I split my body in two

see what ghouls and goblins

hide between my broad shoulders

what shapeshifting pigs lurk

beneath my recoiling skin

what leeches suckle

the blood of my boiling brain?

I would but I’m too ashamed 

to bear my bruises from beatings

to show my scabs of shunning secrets

to demonstrate my demon’s destructive ego.

I would but I’m too ashamed

to exhibit my excrement-covered bowels

to display my disease with ease

to illustrate my mental illness and ill-intent

to love all of me out loud 

I would but I’m too ashamed

I’m utterly drained from exemplifying mortification.

Weary from holding it in.