Some people hide their skeletons
in dark, cobwebbed corners in
their closest buried under
misplaced socks, old magazines
and denial.
But I crawl out of bed when
insomnia wont let me rest,
open the closet door
and have tea with my past
and I shake hands with
the long, cold boney fingers of
and pain healed over with
ragged, ugly scars-
and I wonder what makes people
prefer to keep it hidden away
only to pop up after
one too many drinks
or another unhappy ending
you secretly knew you could
have prevented if you
swallowed the discomfort
and made friends with
the hurt.

“skeletons”- 11-30-13-jessicagadziala¬†


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