that time

an ostrich, with my head in the sand
terrified and shaking
“what if they find out…”
“what if anyone finds out…”
it’s not as if i hadn’t made it known
at least a few times,
it’s not as if i made it
a great big secret,
anyone can look if they want to,
anyone can poison
the waters against me

laid open and exposed
i suffer tiny deaths
any time i encounter someone
for the first time,
“what do they know?”
“how do they know?”
“can they just see it in me?”

i am terrified to turn that corner,
pull out that chair, open that door
“is this going to be that time?”
i don’t want to find myself
cowering in the corner
sobbing uncontrollably
because this one little “secret”
has been used against me

— glb

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