the pain of my undefended self

Party girl persona no longer protects

the sad, lonely being within.

Lipstick helps to fake a smile

that brightly distracts my suffering.

Mask of success no longer serves

to boost my life-weary ways.

What are accomplishments anyway?

Not as if you can take them to the grave.

Extravert energy no longer helps

when I want to retreat from the world.

People just jeer at my fistful of faults

as into a ball of shame I curl.

Being just me is never enough.

That’s why I look ever outside.

Within my walls is a dark, blank hole

that is waiting for me to die.

inktuition black hole

(image courtesy of Kheat/freedigitalphotos.net)

 

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