The Secret That I Carry
The secret that I carry is that I want to be like the rest of them, but I don’t know how. The secret that I carry is that I need you to teach me the right way.
The secret that I carry is that I trust you know something that I’ve yet to know. I need you to read for me. The secret is that I’ve been reading lonely.
The secret that I carry is shame. For ignoring you, for forgetting you, for forgiving you too early, for making you smaller than you are.
The secret is that you’re not special. You are watching me receive pleasure, but it’s not coming from you. I come first.
The secret is that I came too late. The secret is that it was the wrong timing, and I could’ve predicted it.
The secret that I carry is that I’m afraid you knew my secret all along, and that you kept it a secret for far too long. Why didn’t you ask, if you knew I had something to hide? Why didn’t I just claim my confidentiality?
The secret is that you did ask and you did know, and even so, you believed me. You believed me when I didn’t know what to believe.
You wanted to share everything. The secret is that I didn’t want you to know that I misled you. I wanted you to go fuck yourself while you were trying to fuck with me.
The secret that I carry, is that I want you to love me, even when I am in love with someone else.
I lied to you. I never loved you. I never made love to you because I don’t know how to do it on my own. The secret is that I needed you to make love with me, but no matter how consistent my directions were, you always saw a dead end. Either you didn’t think you had any more to give, or you didn’t care to follow.
The secret is that I long to make love with you, but I am afraid I don’t have much to offer.
The secret is that I’m afraid I won’t have any secrets left, once I’m done offering.