Shame

I told the world every day
just how fucking happy I was,
and I went home to my empty bed
- or sometimes my lover's;
does it make a difference when they don't
actually love you? -
and cried in miserable loneliness.

I was so ashamed of my loneliness,
and at the same time
ashamed of my shame;
is this not simply human?
To want to be wanted
- and needed -
to fill our caves with bodies
that keep out the cold night?