There was a courteous knock occasionally
They tiptoed or just barged in, usually
A few of them were expected, almost welcome
While the rest rapidly spread like venom.
Unabashedly, they caroused
Making a mess of my guest house
I tumbled about to find my way
Overwhelmed and lost in the melee.
The guests soon felt warmer and set a new order
And silenced me into a joyless corner
They waltzed like masqueraders in a carnival
I had had enough! I popped open my arsenal.
I ripped the painted masks off their parade
Like ripping a wound off a band-aid
To reveal, to heal, to expose the faces beneath
And off fell, their laurel wreaths.
Her real name was Grief, she confessed
In the garb of Anger she had serenaded
Then there was Insecurity, Guilt and Shame
Jealousy and Ego, their given names.
I stepped down from my moral high horse
I pulled down the roof; broke down the walls
I danced naked in the wind, melting under the sun
Like the Tabula Rasa*, my house now pure and pristine.
* Tabula Rasa: A word of Latin origin meaning a clean or blank slate