Life is also these other emotions felt on the inside
like a dry sponge, twisting, petrified
You also have that holed, oil-stained rag
slung over one of your ribs.
Pretending on the outside, polished, fools
but only for a while. There is a shadow.
This emotion, I could say I hate
it, but I feel the pit of my stomach
a muscle I always had, but never used.