Secret From the Many

Have you ever written a poem

That can never be shown?

One that must hide on old pages

And pretend not to exist?

It will be hushed

By many other thick,

Satisfied pages

In an old notebook

From an old life...

Never to be read again.

It will be stuffed

In the center of the journal,

Shelved or stacked

In another shelf, another corner,

Aching to be touched again,

Pages lovingly caressed by a tender hand.

But it can never be seen,

Especially not by the writer,

For such emotion to be unearthed

Would mean the resurfacing of feelings

That draw her to the brink

And may very well be used as ammunition against her.

Have you ever written a poem

That can never be shown?

Do you ever hear yours whispering to you too?

It's calling you back...But you must pretend that it does not exist.

Reviews

[Tai Ryens]

The denial felt by your speaker is a very relateable thing to all of us, although not always something we wrote ourselves. I've felt this both in the haunting words I penned myself and the loving words written by someone else that have long since turned toxic, so toxic that I can't bear to even lift the paper anymore and every word is deeply ingrained in memory. Well done, this truly was haunting.