I carry it so I don’t leave it behind for someone else to find.
I hide it because it’s not what I want people to see.
Aren’t we trained to look our best?
And cover up the things that don’t quite measure up?
Life on a small rock is a competition between two foes.
Unless they realize they just want a turn in the sunshine.
Time and attention, the treasure trove of the first world.
But I can’t shine.
The sun still hurts my eyes.
I’m afraid to say I’m ashamed,
And I’m ashamed to say I’m afraid.
The weight on my back is seeping down to my feet.
I’ve been occupied making sure I looked as good as I could,
I didn’t stop to notice,
All of us dancing the same dance of concealment.
Is anyone any good anymore?
Is there anyone honestly among the best?
Have we become skilled in deceitful presentation,
Just to raise an impossibly high bar even higher?
We are missing something.
Everyone has an answer.
How will we know the right answer when we hear it?