The stories we tell ourselves:
The ways in which we move in shadow,
Saying to ourselves that we will be alright.
        Everything will be okay.

The stories we tell ourselves:
The ways we hide in rugs,
Convincing others that we are a beautiful decoration.
        We’re not a dirty floor piece.

The stories we tell ourselves:
The ways we nurse our wounds to weary sleep,
Ignoring the peeling bandaid we patched on.
Dreaming of a whole heart.

The stories we tell ourselves:
The ways we lie to ourselves,
Hiding the ugly generous truth in a bag of makeup.
        To make us stronger.

The stories we tell ourselves:
The ways we hide and chide and mask,
That other people believe to be our natures.
        Ignoring the dirt on soiled hands.