Secrets

Secrets.
Used to be
so good at them.
Cover up.
Now you think you know me -
now you know you don't.
That smile could mean
anything.
Or more importantly
everything.
Who am I,
really?

But now I am
no good at those.
Let me lay it out.
I am
exposed.
Open.
I burned my mask.
You talk to me,
you talk to ME.
You know me.








I'm not crazy about this poem. It just sort of slipped out the other day. It's not one of my best, but it was sore of an epiphany of how much I have changed in the last year or two.

I'm not who I was.