by Moira Miller ’29
Everyone has skeletons in their closet,
But mine are older than most.
I’m at the age now,
Where they aren’t just your silly little secrets,
Anymore,
They’ve become more serious,
And they’re harder to keep.
So forgive me for my silence,
It’s just that this antique heart is brimming with secrets,
Kept locked away,
Hidden under a layer of dust,
And I pray,
That they’re never found out.
So afraid to release them from their keep,
The secrets bubble to the surface from the deep,
Of this ancient heart,
And all the while they threaten to start,
Spilling over and drowning everything around me.