They want a docile lamb, no one knows who I am. Must there be a secret me, I'm forced to hide?
Warm. Calm. Secure.
Like the beginning of a journey;
sliding back into the womb.
The presence of a woman nearby
taking on the role of a proud mother.
She helped to pull away the layers
that once hid the interior.
She'll be the first to express her love
while the child is exposed and raw-
Still Dripping Wet
Yet in between
the natural waters encapsulated
in a man made vessel
start to Quiver.
The child watches
the imaginary sailors
on the imaginary ship
all get thrown
She too feels as though she's about to drown
Judges of "truth"
[as they see fit]
come to tower over her.
Like the morning sun about to melt the daily portion.
Their rays burning scars into her skin;
passing through the layer of cloth that
they made her wear.
A layer to wear to cover up her
A layer that she can't manage to wear
As it slides up and continues to expose her
This is truth.
49 different ways
all swimming around in these
yet The Sun can only see the cloth.
And for now,
that's all she can afford to see