Secret things, only I can see
trickle through- inside of me
out my eyes, out my ears
down my spine and through my tears
they hold me in their grasp
constricting while I thrash
my way away
or when I say
“Help”
I need someone to see
they’re taking hold of me
now I’m bitter like a root
that’s lost its tree
or an owl that can’t see
because a part of me
is gone, has fled
left a cracked mold on the shelf
but the pieces cannot help
put me back-
Back then,
when I wasn’t scared to let them in,
that’s when it all begins.

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