In the box of my youth I found shards of red

In the box of my youth, I found shards of red,

a fire truck splintered, my heart filled with dread.

Once bright, now jagged, a reminder of shame,

I looked at the dog and I whispered its name.

I lied with a tremor, my voice shaking weak,

as I pointed my finger, each word felt like bleak.

"It was the dog, look!" I said, shame wrapped in fear,

yet I knew in my heart, it was me standing here.

The truth lay in fragments, in tales that I spun,

forging a story, but knowing I’d won

no comfort from lies, just a guilt that would last,

like the dog’s wagging tail in the shadow of past.