Dirty little secrets...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dirty little secrets isn't a poem. I had a topic of "secrets" SO I came up with this.

Submitted: April 09, 2012

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Submitted: April 09, 2012



Secrets are a fact of the lives we live. We all have them. All of us keep them, make them and ultimately bring them out. The deepest secrets are the ones we never speak of. Subtle thoughts of hate, fear, love, death, life and whatever the human soul can fathom. Racing thoughts of dark places in all of us swirl and twist.

I have dealt with such things as others have. However I don’t hide from my little secrets. Embracing them I don’t tell anyone of the feelings that live just under the surface. The real me that lies to the world around me hoping no one finds out. Thoughts of murder, pain, torture, forgiveness, love. There are places in me that would make god look away in shame.

Manipulating everyone around me I smile giving a false vision of what I am. However I like it that way. No one ever knowing the real me as I watch them smile and laugh at the mask that I have on.

Living day to night I can’t fathom the depths that I have yet to explore about myself. What feelings of guilt I can find in me. What new ideas can my emotional crippled narcissist ways can twist and deepen that dark place. Finding new ways to hide from the world yet at the same time giving quick glances at what I am truly capable of. Seeing what demons are there and taming them to do as I please.

I go to that place of my soul and capture my child like fears and kill them one at a time. Yet I try to kill that child inside, that child that refuses to die. Hunting him down, beating him, torturing him as he cries. Those tears that fall one at a time, makes me sick at his weakness. How he fears and fights against what he does not want to become.

When I think about it logically I may need counseling. Or perhaps I am normal and this is something everyone goes through. In all truth I have yet to ever say something like this to anyone. But there is a part that always wanted to speak of this. This loathing and contempt that I have for the world. Sometimes I wonder if what I feel is real or something like a painting that I create to deal with something ells.

I wonder about what I could do. Or why I hide this from others. A part of me wants to show it. Not to just anyone though. It’s like the yin and yang, light and dark. I seek the dark but look up to find a light in my sick little world. A hand that reaches under the water to pull me up. That angel that can be there to say it is okay. Then I think that I would not want that. If I ever found my angel I would want to clip her wings. Keep her to myself and let no one touch her. Seal her away from the world and embrace her, if even by force.

Still I wonder why. Why do I feel that way? I want my angel to cry for me to show me things that I don’t want to see. Things that I would not bother seeking if she was not there. That angel that would cry for me and only me. The one who cares and would get hurt just so I would not. I don’t seek my angel for reasons of wanting to chain her to the ground. Cut or stake her wings down so she can not fly free. Perhaps it’s fear though. Fear of flying with her. Fear that she will take this animal that I am and strip this nightmare away from me. That nightmare I like so much. That nightmare that gives me what little motivation I have in life.

Even if I say it will be alright, I don’t believe it because I know. I know what I would want to do to her. Then I would put my mask on and never show her that side of me. I would manipulate her just as I do everyone ells. Eventually pushing her away. Then as she yells at me that she has had enough, I would let her go. Being left to my dark world that I like so much, experimenting with what I find there.

In the end I set my standards high so they are in some ways unreachable. That way even if I find her she won’t be good enough. The light she would shine I would turn from to keep my control. That would be a lie though, it would be to protect her light from being darkened by my twisted love.

© Copyright 2017 Charles Mausolf. All rights reserved.

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