“I’m like glass”, I said
“an open book. Nothing to hide.”
All was mirage, fakery,
taped together and illusory bound.
No one is truly transparent,
there is always something more,
hidden away from the light
whether by shame or privacy,
perhaps a lost memory.
Something is always retained
held back, kept secret
just an arcane truth for myself;
not for general display and discussion,
not a hot topic or a quiz show category.
An opaque shell bound in subterfuge,
shrouded in my myopic mystery.
To the world, “I’m like glass”.
To myself, “I’m broken”.