Things Tucked Away
You keep things
in the small drawer,
the one near the bottom,
without a label,
a lost place no one will notice,
safely tucked away,
all the ugly things
you have never quite been able to let go of.
At night, they writhe,
unable to sleep, unable
to release their history and die
a proper and complete death.
no one but you hears them.
No one but you know they are there,
your own Tell-Tale heart,
an angry historian.
Against your better judgement,
you open the drawer, and leave it open
for all to see, and to your surprise,
no one cares. Just another dollop of ugliness
that blends in with the creatures
everyone else keeps in drawers of their own.
About this poem
Almost all of us think our sins are unique. They never are.