Secret

I have lived my life sick and bloated, full of secrets.

I have carried my bulging stomach, drooling a sloppy green substance from my wet lips.

I have swallowed – while stuffed to my throat – secrets as plenty as a full turkey, trying to bash down my already inside contents with the bones, to make further room for what is to come.

I have lived my life of secrecy, pain and misery alone, sad and untrusting.

And when I finally opened myself up to someone

I became their secret.

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Two Conflicting Hopes

To give yourself up to someone, to offer yourself

To raise yourself up on a pedestal, naked, and say “This is me, all I am. Have it.”

And then to be cringed at. To have him raise his neck and stand tip toed to look behind you, scan for better opportunity, more aligned to what he wants, your naked body left trembling.

To see him gawk elsewhere, better than you can offer, to see him relish in the nakedness of other stronger men with skin defined and voices deeper. To force yourself to stand anyways and wait and hope that maybe he will pick you as you have picked him – hoping he can feel what it is you feel – that against what everyone else wants, he wants you, and you want him. To have him not care for your position and walk away.
To fall to your knees on your stage as he is lost to other and better standing men. To feel all hope shatter as your knees collapse like buildings. To lay in that feeling, knowing where he is and who he is looking at.

And then to have him come back up to your stage, lips wet with a new past and memories he will never forget out of will, and say; “It was you. Always.”

And as you are led from your stage with weak legs you look back at dim faces and meaningless bodies, and he does too, but he stares as you turn away with the shattered hope that stabbed into your knees collected in your hands and the feeling with it regained. But he looks until he cannot see them anymore, and even when they’re not visible he still opens that memories box and watches and relives and he, hopes. And when he kisses you, he closes his eyes, and though you are kissing him it is not you that he is kissing.

Hope truly is the strongest thing in this world, so what happens when two hopes turn on each other in combat? There is no surviving with both, so one must perish fatally, and what happens then? When not even hope remains, how do you find the will to carry on? To see future? To even see a present? When hope leaves, wont it take everything with it? I don’t wish to be left without my hope, and his I know is stronger than mine, but I have no other moves to play. I cannot be what I’m not. And so his dove eats my dove’s eyes, and his dog bits my dog’s neck, and his water runs and my water freezes, and his earth spins as my earth drops.