Poem: Lie to me

We are afraid--

The world of us--to tell each other our secrets.
In hidden rooms, with jammed tight doors,
we suffer silently per protocol,
make messes of our messes.
if we would stand straight, eye to eye,
confessing our disaster...
 
Perhaps we'd find each other in our messes,
and our masses would seem masterfully drawn
together in the larger open spaces of our togetherness
where doors don't jam
and people cry
and laugh
and hold each other
 
instead of keeping secrets.