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A spoken-word monologue using a closet as a metaphor to explore hidden guilt, sins, and secrecy. The speaker wrestles with what remains concealed and a creator's right to know what's inside.
A spoken-word monologue using a closet as a metaphor to explore hidden guilt, sins, and secrecy. The speaker wrestles with what remains concealed and a creator's right to know what's inside.
I was told a closet is a place to hold clothing, a place to put your shoes and maybe the pants you left unfolded. But mine is full of skeletons, and ones I would rather leave unspoken. See, we all make mistakes, but for some reason our own feels like the only one that's about to break loose, piling up like insecurities we try to keep shut in the closet. They tell me Our sins can be separated as far as the east is, is to the west, but this mess stretches from one eternity to the other, and I don't see why a creator would fold the laundry I keep shoving to the side. But I guess the one who created the closet has the right to what's inside.
