Doors

I cover my nakedness behind veils,
but there are small holes
so you can see into my secrets.

My hands massage the illusions,
carefully moving objects
to keep them having the image
my insides have no emptiness.

When something gets broken
or I have so need unseen,
carefully I collect the baubles
in ways no one detects
how I have wept over my void.

Words strung like decorative festoons
create the masquerade of fullness.
The biggest fear is someone having a key
who will intrude to discover
the counterfeit mask I’ve made
out of what I let other’s see.
Yet I will keep up the design
barely clinging to the reality
of how it functions.
Perhaps I’ll lose control
toss aside the lies,
let the deep canyons I hide
be exposed to be seen,
will I bear the consequences?
Not if I can keep those fractured fragments
buried in a closet.