private parts

We all have secrets, things we’re ashamed of, things we really don’t like about ourselves, devious things we have done or that have been done to us.  See, I don’t harbor mine; I expose them with lights.  I power open the trap door, and enable my black moths to flutter toward the light. Secrets fester and swirl around with my bile and blood, rafting on my platelets, flirting with my hemoglobin.

Fcuk that noise.  After I admit the truth to myself and to loved ones, is there any person or group I’m still terrified might learn my secret?  Hell with that.  I’ll just lay it on with a knife, spread it thick, and just not care.  We’re all human.  Any fear from being vulnerable disintegrates, poof.  See, you want to judge me for all this embarrassing shite, go ahead.  But before you do, have a sit down with yourself.

Yeah, I fcuk up, do really dumb things I beat myself up for later, but you learn from regret.  And anyone who says they don’t have regrets, well, see, they’ve got ‘em boy, they just don’t have the balls to anti up to them.  You carry regret around with you, and it weighs you down from time to time, but you learn it’s lighter than shackles.  You learn integrity and grow character.  Puberty again.  But this time, you are not plagued by fear, not enslaved to worry, not running.  Your steps are careful and sometimes smaller than you want them to be, but they’re yours.

Secrets cost you your integrity, and that’s too expensive for my taste.  Losing someone because of a revealed lie is no more horrible than keeping them around in blindfolds.  ‘Cause then, when you maintain a falsehood, they really aren’t with you, the full true you.  Love isn’t blind; it’s been eating carrots all day, and can see what you’ve got there, behind your back. So, show it.



Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.