The way I speak
In the car in the morning, or under trees
Is swathed in darkness
My words build walls and facades
And cunning passages, contrived corridors
Deceit, whispered ambitions
I'm dispensing my secrets
But dispensing too soon, or too late
Into weak hands
Or disbelief or indifference
Or until their refusal to look me in the eyes propagates a fear
That no amount of courage on my part could ever dissipate
I'm covered in locks
Inside and out
But no one has the keys
And I am not beautiful enough
For anyone to bother trying