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Bus Poet Stop Apr 2019
not much he reasons, resonating the question,
in the resounding places where both are congruent kept

we talk of lines all the time, line divisors of our
denominators and our numerators,
but truth and secrets are 1/1
so the rational number is always one indivisible whole,
with liberty for both,
when
the glass shackles^
be broken

but let us not dance around the marshmallow fire,
while watching clocks melt as our memory persists,
so secrets and truths have a rigorous solute/solution relationship,
yet, the dividing line melts over time and the answer

in all the poems that the body worked,
with experience, you can see the works becoming
the body solution blended,
undefined admixture, defined, refined, all just fine,
for the microscopic difference is in the eye of the beholder
but requires breaking
the glass shackles^

for
one will enchain
one will set you free
when their meld is melted
Dana Apr 2019
Clasped in her hands
are the secrets she keeps.
Fireflies captured mid flight-
at midnight, she creeps.
Their sparkle, their sight
now restricted, air tight.
She hides them away,
Reassured they are not showing. Passerbys look
Yet no one can see them glowing.
Insects as new pets.
A hoarder, she collects.
A private sinful stash of consealed facts,
stowed away like getaway cash.
They cry out and weep,
locked up inside deep.
Begging to be released
But she closes her eyes and goes to sleep.
For all the things left unsaid.
Sabrina Lark Apr 2019
The whites and lace in that spring place
What once was done, desired to face
Milky innocence once bathed my lips
Now drowned in whiskey and water I sipped

Tie and tights tied
up in sighs and lies
Bred of wine and born of crime
All this' been done that's happened before
Again a mask of silence I swore

A shallow hole I want to cover
Instead I swallow and squander
I lie awake and wait
in sweat and regret I try to dry
in the sheets and heat, O to be clean
and free from friends and means

Scars built from secrets spilt
Shame wrapped in gauze and bandages fold
For this that's mine to bear:
What is done cannot be untold
Copyright © 2019 | Sabrina Lark

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author.

//The majority of my works combine memories and feelings from personal experiences with a particular color or palette, generating an equally immersive art that is both nostalgic and visual.//
A M Ryder Apr 2019
Bagging groceries has given me
A strange window into people's lives

I stuff their secrets into a paper sack
And I tell them to have a good day

But I'm not sure they do
Atoosa Apr 2019
Keeper of Secrets
     I’m an open book
With Heart Untamed
Eyes that see into you with just a look
Connections made, emotions unnamed
Turn my face to the sun with a new outlook
Remember the joy with no regrets
Keep in touch with your true self and with those who recognize and honor you
Humble Apr 2019
As a kid,
I thought wardrobes
really led people to Narnia

As a tenager,
it became a place
that held all the secrets
of seven minutes in heaven.

Now, it's just another
chaotic part of my life

Memories
yet to be sorted out,
Secrets still hidden deep in
like your shirts.

That leaves me believing
that wardrobe is
just a fancy name
for cemetery,
for memories and secrets.
Zoe Mae Apr 2019
Each night we go to bed
With sheets made of ice and blankets of lead

Each night we try to sleep
With a wall at our backs built from secrets we keep

Each day we rise and then
We step onto the stage till it's bedtime again
Chrissy Ade Apr 2019
My mother carried me in her arms
When I was just shy of being three
In the palm of her hands, I saw dainty charms
She said it was a gift to the big, blue sea

With me on her hips, she tip-toed out the door
In the early morning hours to be discreet
When we arrived, she quickly walked to the shore
So the crashing waves could tickle her feet

She carefully placed me down on the sand
As she walked deeper into the water
She opened up the palms of her hand
And couldn’t help but think of her precious daughter
  
She took a deep breath and inhaled the fresh air
Like she had forgotten what it was like to breathe  
The cheeky wind tousled with her midnight hair
Smiling wide-eyed, bearing all her teeth

She dropped the trinkets in the ocean
And watched them fall like leaves
I saw her overcome with such emotion
This was the face of sweet relief

Her eyes glowed brighter than before
But there was still a hint of her meekness  
She was unafraid of her new freedom to soar
For the ocean promised to guard her secrets
Mark C Apr 2019
the secrets you want to keep veiled
the words you wish you had said
are hidden away in junk drawers, dusty cupboards, bulging closets

tell them that is safe here
tell them to step into the bright sun
tell them of the sanctuary that is a lover's gentle fold

we await them
day 12 - Spring Cleaning
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