Origami Called Freedom
She can't come clean.
I get that, I feel the tension
threatening to erupt
cracking the facade of her light
breezy smile.
She's afraid of digging deep.
Honesty hopes for honing
while shame showers her with indecision
jacking the best intentions
from her driven exclamations.
She needs release.
I want to help, I feel concern
yet is it arrogance masquerading as love
or is fear folding itself
into an origami called freedom?