The Death of 'me'

The Death of me.

I have hidden me.
Hidden me among the sands.
The sands of mother brutal tongue.
Deep in the dust of father's stiffling indifference.

Please am looking for me.
Did you see me.
I hid me for you. I hid me for the more acceptable masks shame stiched for me.

Now I have found me,
Sprawled uncounscious and dying
In the piercing sharp-sand of rejection
In a neat packet of ever fresh shame.

Bleeding and bruised. Unlovable as always.
I threw me into the dark murky
Waters of depression.
From now on, I will be him,
Her. Anyone but not me. Any mask that you want.

I will live to please.
To be who am not
Because they won't have who i am.

©Paul Isaiah