Reputation

Reputation is heavy,

an expensive coat

draped over your shoulders

by your friends, your family —

such an honor to wear —

but what they don’t know

is how the dampness clings to the wool inside,

leaking down your back, from the sleeves

just as slime streaks down a prison wall —

on the outside, cool and glossy,

on the inside, hot and sweaty —

but you can’t take it off,

because you’ve got nothing

but tender infant skin beneath,

and do you want to stand naked

before the world —?

Stripped of that trust

lying across your shoulders,

that collar squeezing your neck,

like a snake,

always hissing softly in your ear,

“Your life is mine”

“Because if you take me away”

“With some misstep or other”

“You’ll shrivel in the cold”

“Your snowy skin will blacken”

“Transform to naught”

“And you’ll die upon the pedestal”

“On which you stand”

“Nothing more than an abhorred thing”

“A twisted fetus”

“They’ll all look at you and think”

“It should never have been born”