Tell Me Your Secrets

If we confess our sins on paper,
will that make us more immoral
or are we born this way?

I confess—
I wonder if sin even exists
when we are plundered of morality
in today’s society.

---

Sex sells
and violence titillates the senses,
as we push the button on the remote
to get our daily fixes…

Our daily fix of judging ourselves
to be better than—
you.

---

How many confessions
do we hear from strangers
that we could never confess
to a friend
or a lover?

How many Facebook pages do we stalk
to secretly discover…
any inconsistency of your identity,
another thing we can envy?

---

If you tell me your secrets,
I might tell you mine.

I hear so many confessions—
and they warm me.

I feel stability.
Relief.
As people tell me the worst parts
of themselves.

I know that I am not alone
in this saintless world.

If you tell me your secrets,
I might tell you mine.

I promise—
your darkest desires will burn in your mind
and be buried in my grave
with me.

I will not judge you.
I am no angel—
that I can guarantee.

---

Sometimes our secrets need a voice.

Sometimes we need to expose ourselves
to another person
to feel alive.

To feel connected.

Who will judge you?

Not I.

I am part of the same darkness.

I hide in the shadows
of twinkling smiles
and neurotic false personalities
we call social conformity.

---

How far will you contort and bend
for approval?

Will you continue to allow
another person
to smother your voice
because you believe
acceptance validates your existence?

Honesty is dangerous.
It is brutal.
Yet it is one of the most undervalued assets
of the human identity.

Still—
there are those who would treat it
like an obscenity.

---

I was raised to be a liar.

My mother told me to lie.
My teachers told me to lie.
My employers told me to lie.

Most people
want you to lie.