ever since i could remember, i’ve been keeping secrets.

i’ve made little mental notes of the secrets and folded them with perfect creases. i’ve been gently caring for them as they made a home in my heart.

the secrets i have aren’t even mine to be cared for, but they’re everyone else’s. my secrets were evicted by my brother’s underground thoughts no one else could hear. evicted by my cousin’s private areas. evicted by the elephant in the room no one talked about in my family because it would break us apart more than we already were.

i became the safe that was locked away with a combination no one could figure out.

if i was asked if something was true, i would close my mouth and shake my head “no” like i was taught to.

i kept so many secrets they stopped dwelling in my heart and started resting on the bones of my ribcage. my secrets had nowhere to go so they spilled on the streets of the paper, and now my painful secrets are known as poetry.