Real.… Critic.… Mask.… Ideal.… Breathe in… breathe out. They taught me I was less, so I learned to disappear. Built a paper mirror, kept the real one out. The critic leased a room, labeled every shelf. “Not enough. Not lovable.” It filed away my self. I hid the real me, stitched a borrowed face. “Maybe if I act just right, I’ll earn a place.” Masks get heavy when you try to sleep. The voice you buried … starts to speak. I am not my shame, not the name you gave me. I am not my shame, watch the weight … unchain me. If guilt says, “Change what you do,” I learn. If shame says, “You,” … I let it burn. I am not my shame. I deal with the image … always out of reach. The critic keeps a scoreboard no one else can see. I shut my soft parts down, locked another door. Still the hurt leaks out… along the floor. 7:12 bus, cup warming both my hands, shoelace halo, radio low, simple plans. Sort what is true … from what I learned. False guilt out. True guilt turned. I am not my shame, not the name you gave me. I am not my shame, watch the weight … unchain me. If guilt says, “Change what you do,” I learn. If shame says, “You,” … I let it burn. I am not my shame. If only I was … You already are. If only I was … You are who you are. Lift the mirror. Let the breath come through. Guilt … what I did. A teacher. Shame … who I am. A chain. I keep the one that heals … I let the other pass. Little one, you were never too much. You were never not enough. You are wanted… you are loved. Come to the table. Sit… and… remember to breathe. I am not my shame, not the name you gave me. I am not my shame, watch the weight… unchain me. If guilt says, “Change what you do,” I learn. If shame says, “You,” … I let it burn. I am not my shame … I am not my shame. I set the table … and break the bread. We eat and talk … fear loosens its grip. I am not my shame … I am loved.
