I sometimes wear my collective shame like a funeral shroud.
Pulling it out all threadbare and putrid
to rest around my shoulders.
Reminding me what I am up against.
What we are up against.
What container do you reside in?
Rest your bones in and call it self?
What do you let shape you?
What do you yield to?
The greater? Or the lesser?
What have you become?
What will you decide?
© Elizabeth McLaughlin