Shell of Time

Danielle Palm

A smile on the outside.
Worn thin, but never telling
What is on the inside? No. Only a face.
It shows nothing but a shell,
an outer ego hiding
a turbulent mind and trying times.

Tick tock. On goes time
I look outside,
soaking up the beauty that the world seems to be hiding
time is telling. I look to the clock’s face.
Tick tock, ticktock, ticktick, wondering, wandering, walking on eggshells.

What do I look like? My clothes, my eyes, my face?
Is it honest, is it sad, is it ugly or does it remind you of a time
When we thought that time wasn’t an illusion, or a shel-
ter from which we are withheld from the world outside.
Walking to my own beat, I try, I try to tel-
epathically communicate some sort of sign, but my thoughts are safe in the burrows, hidden.

I wish sometimes that I could hide.
I would like to hide from the problems I don’t want to face.
Its a fate of which we are never told.
Time is a blessing and a curse, outside
of my reach; it ages, it matures, it kills, but it also gives life. We all wear it as a shell.

But we must not neglect the worth of a shell.
A shell in the ocean, hidden
from wear and tear and weather from the outside.
A first world will ravage for shells, and take it at face
value. This treasure. One shell that has withheld the test of time,
through tales told and tales telling.

Maybe this is a story I can tell.
Maybe I am not in a shell, but rather I am a shell.
One day, will I be able to tell of a time
when I didn’t feel the need to hide?
When I felt beautiful, and didn’t have to put on a face
to be valuable to the world outside?

One day, I will wear my inner beauty on the outside.
Not on my face,
but in the way I walk, the smile that I will one day feel beautiful in. And never again will I hide.

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