She came rushing into life too soon,
resembling a tiny, wounded bird.
The doctors called her premature,
I called her, “My

Secrets

Since childhood

All my secrets

With others I shared

Some with laughter

Others brought tears

None was kept

But

No shadows form in the dark.

No silhouettes take shape in a gloomy dusk.

Yet they creep, they grow when light opens its

                SECRETS

Thoughts roam aimlessly

sometimes
when no one is looking
I pull my skeletons from their closet
to count them
sorting them like laundry
careful not to