Avow

Truth be told-

The clean secrets

are the ones

most easily over-looked, 

like tiny happy pills,

like big gulps of fermentation

like bottled pride, 

once swallowed

often gets caught

tickling the throat

edible if not credible

sharp.

The bleached lies

are the ones treated

as though sterilization 

made us all safer

instead of regretful

for draining the color from

all storied possibilities.

Cheeks and skies

Sunsets and dawns

pinks and yellows

the way you see

plain as day

something always there

in between...

Kisses like clouds

Words like wind

fighting infection and odds

debating the will without power

Nothing to trace

Distance cured us all

to be saved for later

Revelations.

Painting by Gabriel von Max 'Praying' c. 1915 in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. 

Duck, duck, & Goose

I see you ducking & hiding

as if this could keep you safe

of course, most enjoy a good game

of hide & seek-

except when there is no-

body looking

for you

the pain sets in,

nesting in the corners

where you have stashed secrets.

Fleeing from danger

is both fight & flight

instead of planting ones

self in the belief of growth & resilience

where you are

is never where you choose to be

there is disregard

for the hidden

wanting to be found

under a shroud of a woven

textiles you gathered,

that felt like encryption,

yet your secrets strobe across

all of our four heads

illuminating the dark valleys

spreading across your scape. 

Painting by Carel Fabritius, 'Hera hiding during the battle between the gods and the giants' c. 1643 in [Public domain].

Ilk-some

He was the kind of guy that would say,
                   my pleasure,
and from that point forward
add interest.
He was the kind of guy that held resentment
tenderly in his palm
                   while revealing a warm smile.

A gentleman does not tell
who he calls Beautiful
                   all the time
He was a kind and gentle man it would seem
to many
too many women.

He was the kind of guy that liked to drive
and scare his passengers.
He was the go to guy,
the kind that goes to extremes.

You know the kind of passionate man
who projects his desires outward,
the type that wants women
to reflect this same desire,
his wants and those wanting him-only
at his fingertips...

On his lips
                   lies more than truth.

The kind of guy who mouths one thing
but means two,
who denies what he does not remember,
repeats what he hears,
who walks with an air
                   he thinks doubles as a smoke screen.

He is the breed of human who has been;
in love
dishonest
rebellious
covetous
oblivious
                   to having lost all trust
when he wasn't looking
and subsequently stopped earning interest.

Day after day, a toll is taken, and then again
I hear him say, I have to go
                   and yet I stay,
waiting in kind for a different guy.



Portrait by Vincent Rodes c. 1820, located in Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Forsaken, forsooth

Have you seen a secret? Someone  else's-specifically?

The way they fiddle with it in their pocket-It gets stuck between their

first and second molars, like poppy seeds, or opium and needs constant stroking

or protection by its caretaker who thinks-who believes-utterly, no one else can see;

the touching devotion, the precious obsession, the random gaze, sneaky smiles, daylight        
dreams late labored nights, off-kilter emotions,

or most simply the love of its keeper-buried deeper than they think any other can see.

Indulgence even has its limits.

Honesty was never a necessity for breathing easy.

Instinct can be turned down, or diverted to other carnal needs such as

survival of the keenest wills.

All the bile was meant to make you sick of yourself.

Betrayal, often thick and yellow in-consistency corrodes from the insides-
tastes like lies.

Love smothered with these dies in a shower of saliva’s acid rain. Kiss me...

for another's wish

for another

denied all this to me in sweet secrecy.

Painting by William Dyce [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Silent H

If I tried to hide something from you,

would you know?

Would you become suspicious,

or let it go?

If I no longer listened to your voice-

don't you think it would be by choice?

If I argued with everything you said,

wouldn't this make our conversations dead?

If I began sneaking around,

would you begin peaking around?

If I were stockpiling and recycling secrets-

would it whet your whistle to relax your own rules-

Let's

pretend we are still fools...

If I keep playing the oblivious game,

would you keep dealing villainous blame

Excuses?

Nothing is fair in love and truces;

someone's got to give

and someone's going to live

Honestly.

Painting by Delphin Enjolras [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Keeping it Inside Out (There)

Between you and I
secrets
Yes
You've seen parts
none cared
for, but me.

You see,
remember that time
you knew
I was lying
or the time
you knew truth
was hiding right there
and both times
you thought,
why not?

Or of a poet-
that needs words
that hold places for
secrets
that are not known
but shown
anyway...
In between
poetry shared
somewhere
someone
else may
someday
care
and keep
secrets 
with me.




Image by Julia Margaret Cameron [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Alter ego

Having an alter ego
is better than being schizophrenic,
clinically.
Although its still not quite right
to say it has to do with our
size shifting ego.
It could have been called
alter(nate) reality
-but that was taken by technology.
Parallel universes could work, theoretically.
This would not conflict or cross hairs,
like egos.
Who knows,
maybe being a writer is just ordinary
crazy. After all,
it's a scary thing
to think like Stephen King.
Though the average person
keeps their twisted thoughts
to themselves,
but knows how
alter(nate)ing egos
allow acceptably
multiple personalities.
And many is more than one-
identities, like secrets are sweet,
indulgent even, but one
can have too many of those
personality wise, everyone knows
those are aptly called lies.