Walking, my shadow-self trails behind.
With sun rising in the sky,
I beg that blackness to speak.
“Tell me of my younger urges,
those dark secrets stuffed into your shape.”
Shadow lengthens, stretches,
flexes young muscles,
shoves me hard.
I turn to step on, squash it, cover it up.
Shadow twists into ropey string,
spews hate, anger,
proudly displays its shit and piss
shouts, “Give? Give?”
I do give up, give in, give over.
I iron my shadow-self onto me
like dark lining, the thin layer
giving me starch, body.
And shadow quiets
For it is noon.