I don't wear my shame. 
i don't give it you 
drenched in diluted dialect 
beautiful regrets like 
meteors falling, falling. 
I don't present you my shame 
like bread on a waiters plate
instead I feel it in my cotton jacket, 
as I walk down a two lane sidewalk
sinking in my guilt 
as they pause talking 
to make room for all my walking, 
all my uncertainty.
all I can consider is every reason
for why the sun doesn't rise to see me
or why when my friends are happy 
and I didn't donate money to the Ronald McDonald house. 
what a farce! 
to think I would tell you my scars. 
I am free 
but who I was 
costs more than you would believe.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    