having spent my life
making a thousand omissions
of one kind or another

the habit is
hard to break
but i’ve been trying

hiding less and less
the person i’ve become
the life i have been building

the not understanding
is almost as painful
as the not accepting

and the holding back
is more painful
than all of that

a more dull pain,
perhaps, the kind
that seems innocuous

until suddenly
the omissions

until suddenly
the dull pain
becomes sharper

until suddenly
the beauty of what
is being omitted


and still
the trepidation

and still
as always
i go on