| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Personal >> ID #684101 |
| |||||||||||||
|
My identity is not secret.
My facade hides nothing, yet I wish I had something to hide, some position or strength, something that makes me adequate. I've saved no lives and caused no change, yet I deal with my own kryptonite: anonymity, inadequacy, failure which make me vulnerable, weak.
© Copyright 2003 Mark C Bradley (UN: auric at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Mark C Bradley has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |