I dabble in the secret things.
They are my specialty.
The things one mentions not in light, not in reality.
I dabble in the secret things that make men twist and cry.
The shame that no one talks about that hides within your eye.
I dabble in these things ’cause I have secrets of my own.
They tremble at my footsteps.
They know that they are owned.
But still these secrets eat me, follow into the night.
They fill my soul with worry they might one day see the light.
And so I keep to other’s secrets as my great specialty.
And I hope that no one finds out what is secretly eating me.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011