Iced Over
Why not keep concealing all my feelings?
I'm reeling from the effect of ingrown, self-owned hidden passion.
I fashion my thoughts
Into the shoulds and oughts
To fit the ice-cubed squares
Without allowing of self-awareness.
Stress and tension give me headaches.
The frozen skin breaks
And the cold breezes penetrate to my still-lliquid core.
Ore of words and feelings--
Linguistic understanding, my glass ceiling--
Form the jagged edges of an icy crust.
The shoulds.
The oughts.
The musts.
Words that cake the breakage and float on top.
Dross. Fancy playthings of the child's Real.
How I feel.