Concealed
A poem about masking who I really was for a long period of time.
Nightfall sets, whisking the image of the girl
in all black with it.
Tattoos cover her arms- constallations,
used to mask the fact
she’s quiet, shy, rarely speaks up.
she got those tattoos
(layers of skulls and wolves)
to look tougher and to give
more a don’t mess with me vibe.
She doesn’t want to tell you:
she’s anxious,
her mind never rests
never falls to complete peace.
The tattoos enhance the outer image
in place of a worn leather jacket.
Army green jacket and black pants,
conceal her to give
appearance as part of nature.
At Cooper Rock National:
reflecting on a rough year to come,
seeking clarity.
knowing that only nature
brings the desired balm.
She sits there, quiet, journal open,
black pen in hand.
Someone tells her she doesn’t have
to be so tough
if she lets her guard down
she’ll find love and acceptance.
Tells her not to hide anymore
the treasures concealed in her.
She sits on a front porch at night
smoking Newport 100s, flicking into
a skull shaped tray.
Looks at them, reading, are they trustworthy?
I am who I am, I’ve found systems
to camoflauge, to fit in, to hide.
It’s been 6 years since I’ve last
loved anyone outside of family.
It’ll be 10 more until I find someone
worthy of giving up
my carefully crafted disguise-
my camoflague efforts-
they make me safe
This poem was in response to Tej’s tanka about performing. She tagged me in it and asked for a poem about camoflague. I’m challenging anyone who reads this and wants to try it- the word is change.
