Feb 2018
I confess that I am guilty
Of the shame that entrenches
Of my hand that doesn’t clutch
Yet recoils and dampens stiff
Of my joints
Weary
Of my gaze
Strained
Of myself
Harmed
Of the shame that entrenches
Of my hand that doesn’t clutch
Yet recoils and dampens stiff
Of my joints
Weary
Of my gaze
Strained
Of myself
Harmed
