I tell my secrets to the dark.

I used to tell the trees but they whispered in the breeze.

I tell my secrets to the dark who swallows them whole and twists them against me when I fear them most.

No one knows I tell the dark

I used to tell my secrets to the dark but the dark whispered back.

Now I call my secrets to the stars that hang in the sky. It’s hard, but it’s how I’m getting by.

I put my secrets into books.

I used to tell the stars but they whispered amongst themselves until the whole sky knew.

Now I press my secrets into books and shut them tight.

I used to close my secrets into books but sometimes the pages lay open for passing strangers to marvel at.

And now I burn them into my skin, so I can feel them and never forget.

So when I bury myself in hate and grief they are buried with me.

No one will know