The Shallowness Which is My Grave

Shallow.

This I am.

It consumes me.

My shallowness.

I justify it.

With truth.

Only for justification.

That's not the real reason.

I'm disgusted.

By "it"

The images.

That make me.

Shallow.

And by

My shallowness.

How do I live.

With myself.

Like this.

Judging.

Correcting.

Justifying.

Though true.

Do I act upon it?

The truth.

What does that.

Even.

Look like.

Someone.

Anyone.

That man.

That woman.

That old lady.

Down the road.

Please explain.

How do I convey.

My shallow truth.

To the one.

I love.

Or.

Should I.

Say nothing.

At all?

This shallowness.

Is as deep.

As the grave.

That I have dug.

Myself into.

Yes I know dear.

But.

But..

But...

But....

But.....

Nevermind.

I'll just love you.

Whatever lack of shallowness.

That may be.

For you.