Where do I hide what I'm ashamed of

Where do I hide what I'm ashamed of? But so it doesn't sting, Or scare to death, or hurt… Until you bark: "Stop, that's enough!" The wardrobe holds just what I'm sick of, What's worn out, what didn't burn In the last two moves. But for the new — there's no room. Wherever you look — everyone's miserable. I thought they were lying… and was partly right. And there's no real grief, it seems, But you've got to whine, echoing the neighbours. It comes out flat and clumsy, Like watching porn instead of sex. We'll all come somehow, someday — You can even be born twice. The question "why?" is already a good one To ask while you've still got breath. The answer's in the dead silence, on a shelf, Where shame got stuffed while tidying up. Under it, answers to "who am I?" and "where am I going?" Wait quietly, without wilting. They tickle the mind, switch on the body That went numb in the grey weekdays. It's no shame to drag shame out into the open. It's far lower to gurgle in a puddle When you were born to sail the sea. But tastes differ, I won't argue…