so the world wouldn’t see me undress.
In case it was a movie and I was being watched.
I hid in the bathroom - I was ten.
My brother sat in the hallway reading Bat Man comics,
waiting for me to emerge so he could beat me up.
My acting days dissembled for the written word, children,
the great impassable fear that was the dark screen all along.
I knew I didn’t have time to not - I walked out.
No one knew I’d been stashed away those many years.
Funny how that works.