The hated thing that dances
and bares its teeth at old people
babies that cry and family members that will (prattle) phone all the time.
And it slithers through your brain
leaving trails you scrub with frenzied denial
not me not me not…
Private deep moments worry-wondering if there is anyone else…
and does anyone else know about…
Can they tell?
Do I wear it like a stigmata,
like a camp number on my arm?
Do we all house monsters?
Do we all provide demons a waiting shoulder to perch,
skittering and landing with a whomp.
Wings wafting a stench of uncharity
up your nose.
I must be the only one….
Nobody else is,
nobody else could possibly be,