I am not ashamed of my pain,
I am ashamed of what caused it.
I don't know if they are the same thing,
I don't know if one can be without the other.
For what is pain without its cause,
And what is the point of hardship
without its beginning?
I know that I have been a disappointment,
to myself and everybody else.
It's not an easy thing to let yourself down,
but it hurts just as much.
It's like realizing that you weren't as great as you thought you were,
not as strong as they told you,
a jarring wake up call,
or earthquaking, ground shaking reality check.
It's never something you expect.
They'll tell you I was a cynic when I'm gone, they'll go on and on about how I loved to laugh at anything sarcastic.
They may even go as far as saying
I was hopeless.
Some sort of bombastic,
overly enthusiastic,
mannequin that drew a plastic smile
on her skin and liked to spout poetry.
Some may say they knew me,
some may say they wish they didn't.
I expect all of that,
every good and bad thing they have to say.
Because when you manage to
let yourself down in the way I did,
life teaches you to anticipate.
Be ready to receive but not reciprocate,
it's okay that they think that way.
Besides you could never explain the myriads
of battles you've fought with
that plastic smile on your face,
the amount of scars still bleeding while
you laugh to their face.
It is hard to feel ashamed when the world tells you that your scars are beautiful.
They frame you and place you in the art gallery of other bodies with the same story or something alike.
But I am ashamed and once again
I'm okay with that,
because it tells me that
I am not too far gone to know
what to be proud of,
that I know what warrants shame.
So when they stand over my grave and disparage my name just know
I that knew it was going to happen,
but that smile on my face?
It says that I will rise again.
And that out weighs any shame
that nailed the coffin.
SK
