Shame and Guilt

I think that in your mind I occupy a

drawer,

behind some boxes of “new”,

filed with the rest of your

intentionally

forgotten

things,

and maybe a few

paintings on the wall are mine,

or maybe a rug.

I promise you,

that if you don’t

take me out

and clean me up,

I will begin to rot,

molding

into every

beautiful thing you place there.

I can already smell it,

only

when I look in your eyes,

and you can’t

look into mine.

You’ve added me to your pile of shit.

Filed me under “shame and guilt”

and thrown a tarp over me.

But in mine,

you,

you are in

everything,

just a little,

you are the air filling the space,

slightly hazy, and tinting it all,

smelling of something sweet and faint.

But I am airing you out.

I am not screaming

“pick me, pick me!”

I am screaming

“PICK YOU!”.

It is so hard to have to be a lesson that I don’t even think you’re learning.  

I hope one day when you’re rummaging through the boxes now labeled “old”

you are able to open that drawer,

and face it.