Call me haunted,
say that I used to
flaunt it so much that I didn’t
even know I had it.
I call it my secret,
for me to know,
for my friends to keep,
for my lover to sew into my skin.
It lies so deep below,
it appears every now and then,
I tell it to leave but it haunts me,
taunts me,
asks me why I ignore it.
My head feels so heavy with
the secret,
my secret,
but it is mine to keep,
to have restless sleep over,
to haunt me.
I am haunted,
I feel it when I move,
when I am disapproved by those
around me,
surrounded by misery,
hopeless daydreams,
songs of praise that seek the devil,
make the world seem bleak.
I have this secret,
it sticks to my heart and tears me
apart,
limb to limb,
some may even call it shitty
art.
I heard that poets are dead inside,
ripped up and trashed,
their heart has been
smashed,
dashed across screens,
showed to those around them.
A girl once told me her secret,
spread it from room to room,
married,
destroyed her groom,
her secret caught up with her
so soon.
I am haunted,
I hear it in my dreams,
see it when I walk and hear it
in the dark.
I never know what to say,
how to act,
how do I even approach what happened
that day?
It scars me to today,
it beats me senseless,
makes me scream,
I don’t call them dreams anymore,
nightmares are what they seem.
It falls from the trees around me,
I can feel it in my chest,
a trapped bird ready to burst from its cage.
People must think I’m insane,
I think that too.
Grass is supposed to be green,
the sky is supposed to be blue,
but don’t listen to what they say.
I am haunted,
I am a destroyed soul,
but it is my secret to own,
it is my body that is no longer
whole.
I am haunted,
I scar myself most days,
I try to turn the page and re-write.
I use my pen as my knife,
paper as skin,
so thin that every word pains me
to stain.
I indent my past on myself,
I leave it to mark me,
but I never let the spark inside die.
I have a secret,
call it what you will,
call me what you think,
watch me sink so far that I drown.
I am haunted,
I write the ghosts of my past
constantly in my work,
I mould them into my own,
I make them my friends.
I am haunted,
my skin is so burned it no longer
hurts when I cry,
and I try to pray… I look to the sky.
I am haunted,
I am so far down I feel lost,
I don’t live the life you think I do,
it is glossed up through screens,
cameras,
nothing is as it seems.
I am haunted,
but the bruises are my own,
the memories are scarred
on my skin,
I can find a way out.
I am lifted from my pain,
I express it with my words,
it may still hurt,
but things like this always do.
I am haunted,
don’t try to fix me,
or comfort me.
I confront my past,
gain from it,
accept it happened.
I have a secret,
it is mine to tell,
write about,
and no one else can take
that from me.
LegallyFierceFeminist 