Shame Poem by Savannah Oakes

Flakes fell light against the black night,
she watched the flakes fall low
and crush beneath her heavy, wading feet.
With each step, she exhaled from her weary lips,
each breath, quicker than the last
composed shimmering elements,
that shone weak against
the misleading lights above.

She wished she could breathe.
Breathe out all her shame,
so that if it were, finally,
to relieve her lips and surface—
exposed among her darkened sight—
she might grasp it,
twist it and choke it,
between her wavering, chapped hands.
There, at its end,
holding onto nothing but itself,
it would purge its last
violent breath—suffocating within
her solitary, worldly grasp.

But, she thinks. She knows.
She could not exhale
this secret, searing fire or
expel it from her bitter, collapsing soul.
But, if she could attempt, finally,
to dig in deep below—
meet those lurid, eager voices, the
excesses of her dripping, whining soul—
greet them with baited affection,
greet them without conceit,
she could then, finally,
find herself within them.

When she does, finally,
fathom and not fear this great and
rousing courage she could, even now,
exhale, expel, or dig out this gorging sin—
escape it—at least
with a little of herself remaining,
breathe in deeply, unclasp her hands,
embrace this dark and shrouding mass,
she could then, finally,
put it into something useful.