Such a shame, shame, shame

How much
shame can I endure,
is it possible to
die
from it,
because Shame
is killing me.

It's just
there's so much of it,
from
what I look like,
to what I believe,
to how I feel,
to what I like,
to what I dare to claim for myself.

Shame has seeped
into every pore of me,
and shuts me up,
and if you think I am
dishonest,
it's only because of
Shame.

You see,
Shame is there
every day,
loud, loud, loud
always yelling at me
always mocking me.

Shame reprimands:

How
Dare
you talk?

How
Dare
you take up space?

How
Dare
you desire?

How
Dare
you expect better?

How
Dare
you continue to exist?

Shame taunts:
They will all find out
how
Bad
you are
how
you've never wanted
to be
Good.

They will all find out
that you are a fraud
that you are a liar,
that you know
nothing,
that you are a
racist,
that you are
unaccountable,
that you are
actually White,
that you are
transphobic,
that you are
callous,
that you are
cold,
that you don’t
care,
that you don’t
feel,
that you break
boundaries,
that you break
hearts.

Shame is there to whisper to me
even on the good days:
you know,
they already know,
they are only humoring you,
you know,
the only thing you'll
ever
be good for
is to be a blank slate
for people's emotions.

You can't even do that
right.*

Shame
is an ice pick
chip, chip chipping away
at any worth I cultivate.
Shame
is fingers
pick, pick, picking away
at anything that dares to grow into goodness.

Shame
is killing me.