Concealed/Unconcealed

(Un)concealed

My face always gives me away.
When I’m sad or overjoyed.
Feeling unwell, or particularly good that day.
It is all written on my face.

As much as I would like tohands-over-eyes
hide my hurt, sometimes, it is no use.
My lips locked, my eyes blurt my life
all over any alert person’s consciousness.

They say the eyes are the windows of
the soul, and so that truth for me
shines free from my face, and scrolls
across my forehead like an LED message,
a beacon for any and all to survey,
an (un)willing witness
to what I think and feel and see;
all my heart’s debris.

So, to conceal what I don’t wish to share,
I have learned to look down, steel myself,
so as not to bare my thoughts,
look busy, look preoccupied,
as long as I must wear my ordeal,
my glance dares not meet
any inquiring gaze. So, I smile,
I joke; only so am I safe to pursue all my
sweetness or sorrow
solely.

But let that eye meet another,
no matter the cost,
all of my secrets are lost.

 

Written for the Poetic Asides November Poem-a-Day Challenge at Writer’s Digest.com

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