iridescent ;; poems

transparent

i keep my secrets locked inside
a black box in my chest.

on the outside, it looks nice enough.
scratches covered with ribbons,
dents hidden by flowers,
corners barely kept together by dollar-store tape.

but the inside is a wreckage.
claw marks on the floor,
imprints on the walls,
lightless like the bottom of the sea.

these days, the box has felt lighter than ever
like someone was supporting me
and taking on some of the box's weight.

but they must have been fooled by the exterior as well;
i don't blame them, even i was almost fooled.

and when i'm alone
the box rattles in my chest
waiting for its chance
to burst open.

i wish someone would see inside me
tell me it's alright to cry, alright to feel
it's alright that you don't have your life together.

but i think i decorated the outside of the box too well.

the sides of the box are opaque iron,
trained to conceal the things inside
because if anyone sees the things inside that box,
they'd leave.

i'd know. i've been there already.

but every time someone else is fooled by the exterior
i want to cry all over again.
more ugly things come to existence in the box.
is if my fault i'm not transparent enough?
is it my fault the walls are so thick?

if the walls are opaque
i suffer alone
because nobody knows.

if the walls are transparent
i suffer alone
because nobody stays.

and if my walls ever fell down
and no one was there to anchor me
it would be the end of us all.

so i keep the box secure.
i check it every night,
peek inside to make sure everything is still in there,
and seal it up again
with my ribbons and flowers and dollar-store tape

and hope it's enough to fool them
and keep them by my side.