not a pretty word, something that cuts ropes
(and ropes can be two things- safety and captivity, so am I climbing rocks or are my hands tied?)
something that cuts ropes and will not stay trapped forever.
I have one, thrumming against the walls of my heart, like it's trying to push through a window.
I have a secret singingsinging inside me, beating like a moth against a lantern glass.
I have a secretsecret; maybe less like a moth, more likealion pacing its cage, because, of course
(of course, I say, but the feeling won't pass)
someday it will meltaway, leapover the iron bars
like a silver horse
and gallop over my tongue and shove past my teeth sharpasice, nevercease,
building to swift release
and it will spill from my lips, wet with the fine mist of silence that has gathered here
as I have waited
because you are always too near,
all of you,
for someone so farfaraway.
to: mybrother, myfather, mymother
a letter I won't send
into a silence that won't end
until I've spoken-
( I thought at first that I could think of two kinds of secret
good, and bad.
and this, then, I'd thought would count as the latter
not that it would matter
all that much to you,
but I was wrong before and I'm glad because I don't think I could live with what I thought at first and now at least I feel like breathing again and there's no crushing violent weight but there are things that you could say to bring back that weight with a word because and although I know this: there is only one kind of secret you know and all that matters is reaction once I've spoken and the silence is broken I've given you all I can give you which is honesty and nothing else but all that matters about this secret now is the look on your face and your answer so will you can you answer me I love you that was never a secret and that's why I'm telling you this because I believe you'll love me keep on loving me my secret isn't a secret anymore it's not mine now but if you can still love me I'll be fine just answer me
give me an answer )
of course its all a projection now, but maybe someday I'll find enough shreds of courage to speak past that
past the barred window in my mouth
and it won't be long,
I'm terrified it won't be long at all,
because lately around them I feel as though I'm trying to speak through a mouthful of water
and sooner or later it's bound to spill.
I know it's rough, and it's not obvious what the secret is- that's sort of the point, I guess. I know what I was thinking about when I wrote it, but it could be anything, really. And I've been trying to get away from this arhythmic stream-of-conciousness style, but that was how this one came out. I think there's probably a few edits left to go on this one. Anyway, tell me what you think, eh?