Confessions

I have secrets.

shallow inside, Compact. Each in their own little silk-bowed ribboned box.
wishing to brim out,
and spill.
Stories lapping at the air around
Space to expand and to deliberate upon wishes.

I have feelings,
raw and full of pain
the horrible,
the narcissistic,
the philosophical,
the kindred,

And I have left parts of me behind.
Parts that sometimes I wish were still here.
Parts that I know if I could only act on,
I would feel more free.
Because even those parts I have left behind.
They are still full of me.

No-one really knows.
People don't sit down
and say
'Tell me about yourself'
And I think that if they did,
I could not.
Or perhaps I would not.

Sometimes I would like someone to know.
I wish there was a right someone.
Then I could start to untie those little silk bows.