Tomorrow, I Am Going To Tell Him A Secret

I confess.

Kneeling down in a dress too short to gain the approval of anyone but a red blooded man (or a lesbian).

I confess,

with wrists bound behind my back,

I confess that I have a secret,

too damning to reveal,

but too powerful to plead with for mercy.

It overpowers me,

consuming me and conquering me,

it loves that I’m a mess,

because messy girls amass secrets,

secrets create alliances and sequences,

and then it’s all over,

curtains drop,

and I drop to the ground with my eyes closed and my soul open, to confess.

Good luck charm on my neck,

his name stuck on my lips,

and no way to escape the truth that I’ve been hiding from,

the truth that I wrote songs about,

the truth that I’ve had dreams about.

I could let it out.

Maybe it will feel liberating, to let it go?

It’s just a heart shaped secret,

after all.

Kind of drives me crazy but also drives me to keep living,

kind of terrifies me but also makes me smile (and I rarely, rarely do that willingly),

kind of makes me want to shout from the rooftops but also makes me afraid of what I’d be shouting, the act of shouting itself and falling off rooftops (in that order).

It’s just a heart shaped secret,

after all.