Painful Honesty

There comes a time when we must be honest with ourselves and the world around us.
Not pretty honesty, politically correct, polite.
Not even kind.
But the honesty that purges out of you,
Confessing and revealing all your bones.

This honesty is no cup of tea, but a brew that strips you bare,
Past the clothes; past the flesh.
Drink it down, this medicine of sorts.
Let it kill the disease that’s been eating you up for so long.

There comes a time when you realize, you’re not the only one in hiding.
Everyone around you is wearing this mask, painted pretty with gold
And somehow each one wonders if they have the only one that is counterfeit.

The Big Man says “ready or not, here I come…” and you scoot as far back in the closet as you can, hoping He won’t see your feet sticking out.
An hour goes by, then another, and another.
Still you won’t let Him find you.

There comes a time when you realize, painful honesty just might change the world.
That maybe if you swallow the lump that has taken up residence in your throat, belt out that high pitched note, and sing loud enough to crack the crank that controls the mask…

Maybe then we’ll all come out of hiding.
Perhaps then our chains will melt like winter snow and allow room for spring.

This is the time to lie back in the fields of earth, tuck your hands under your head allowing the world to see those unshaven armpits.
But take another look and there amongst the hair is a flower.