Today, I dug a grave for my honesty.
I figured fiction had more of a right to prosper than fact,
the fact that I was neglecting my vessel on the clock,
playing the role of dimwit to the importance of self-care.
I met the cliff’s edge in regards to burying my bones in the plot, shovel in hand, casket ready to close,
wearing my Sunday Worst.
as the shadow of denial arrived to reap and move the process along,
5’clock clarity struck me in my tomb, casting down strength in the grip of my hands.
I climbed out of the casket I bought for my honesty,
up from the grave and onto level ground.
My truth almost perished today,
all because pride couldn’t make me hold a mirror to my skin.
I am a resurrection.