Where shame does and does not lay

With every syllable that dies rolling off my tongue to your ear
and every letter suicidally springing its way off my fingertips,

I become vulnerable

so much so I am starting to feel naked; in every sense of the word
Every morning when I wake to another spider spinning her web on my bedroom ceiling I notice another garment
missing
or disfigured on the floor
much beyond repair

I am not especially cold
I am just exposed

no shame in showing you my ugly side
But the memories of those scars and that extra body fat still hurt

and I have shame in that

I woke up this morning to the bones of my closet
brushed metal spine wedged in the same place it always had been
several dozen ribcage hangers, some hanging off other hangers
hangers on the floor
What is this?
A hanger tucked in beside me with a handwritten note

“All this fabric is but guise
guarding you from me —
you’ve no need for reservation
reticence
reluctance
Safehouse, safety net;
you’re safe as safe can be”

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