In Closets, Behind Eyes

I eek the veil,
peeking through secrecy
to manifest esteem,
as equal to my world
as ethic I’ve denied it,
left shuttering in a closet rife
with the burden of my bones.

I deflect and blame
eroding identity
into narrowness of self-deceit
where righteousness holds me firm
to the fallout of my pride.

Beaten back are gospels of liberty
laying me open as an illusion of mettle,
no less the aromatic of a rosebud
than to spite the thorns of its rebutted
consolation in defiance to reach
its fragrant aura.

I am first and last resort
and a cell to fate and its destiny
known only to each harbor
from which my truth sets sail.

If candor be your claim,
seek no return
from what I am devoid of,
as I turn wayward
toward all I shrink behind
in realization of deceit
no guilt or shame could ever rectify.