I sit here, writing, or typing
precisely
my feelings, memories, events
to be read

By you, nothing hides me more
than paper
but you see me, my soul, and heart
naked

On your screen, at your desk
whore
putting all of me out there, my emotions
like breasts

fascinating, untouchable if I were a true lady
I'm not
just another literary slut, flashing my soul
for your

prurient pleasure. No designer fashion here
skin deep
deeper by far is my shame, and my pleasure
orgasmic

by nature, this thing I write, this lyrical safari into
my shame
but is it not wrong, just rude, unashamed
civilized

People have shame, animals have ruts. am I
animal
or mineral? its not a game, its my life
up

here, on this page, absolute, open and no makeup
no hiding
No running, I could, but then this would still haunt me
am tired

of ghosts, always running things, making them happen
I
make things happen, now, and always, forever, until
I die

Then, until then, no fate, no destiny, until I have no
density
any longer. I remain my own woman. Haven't always been but will
be.

Kynthia Rosgeal

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/writers-have-no-secrets-poets-have-no-shame/