I have secrets that I keep, even from myself
In strange places I hide them within me.
Shoving them into the smallest of places,
bending and squashing them to fit them in,
all the while hoping they will never show their fangs in polite company.
Others I leave in full view in the wide public spaces of myself,
where all can see them,
and be openly discussed with gossip and incredulity,
but not seen or understood by me in my blindness.

Viscous beneath the surface of my thoughts,
they may shift and roll impatiently, as far from my mind as possible,
where I have left them so I may forget.
Many I have close to my heart,
holding them tight so they can dream and desire.
Every so often one may, sticky and fetid bubble to the surface,
breaking the thin layer of consciousness to give me a shock,
or a vision and a purpose.

Dark secretes and light secrets
Ones that strengthen and ones that strain
Ones of glory newly revealed, to push me past stagnant old habits.
Inspiring me in their glittery finery; gossamer like and so ethereal,
so hard to catch but always worthwhile when caught.
Others grow like mushrooms in the dark hidden places of myself
As they take on a life of their own,
gathering friends through the float some and jet some
I inadvertently though subconsciously feed them

Secrets
The very word suggests a containment of something larger than itself.
Yet something so small its not even a memory.