I have too many words
trapped inside this vessel
of light and blood and bones.
I don’t know where to put them
or how to say them
or how to get people to listen.
So I scribble them on pieces of paper
ripped from a spiral notebook
I haven’t used since sixth grade,
dusty from being placed
in the corner of my room
for so long.
And then I hide them away in a jar
labeled 'secrets'
and never think of them again.