the secrets i hold

when my youth was stolen right under my nose ,i spent months figuring the probability of what 1 in every second really meant --how long intact survived in the hands of  lust--the screams i howled downed the voices that told--the secrets i now hold,need not be told,though i  have no  reasons to keep them this close.i  do have my reasons for keeping them this close.all they have left is the echo of grief,i have kept my lips dumb,paralyzed by bits that taunted my life,i know the cost of words,how they can take away power-sip away strength you thought you owned- i look back at the scene-know how everyone wants to own bits and parts here and there,so they can also be there-but no one is willing to safeguard the lines that my life hangs on.no one knows how to keep words whole,so we give away bits that are too heavy to carry alone,we kill trusting souls with the  trigger of whispering guns and bullets of know it alls-we find loop holes to halves and halves that should  make wholes-we peep into lives whose truths are hard told--we punch holes--when gossip ends-what do we gain exactly-if i told you my life story-would you turn a blind eye of a blind eye of a blind eye to the specks in my story-would you understand why i prefer bits of my story to be wilting instead-carry my past cremated to the grave-would you understand why i obsess on how the resurrection of my past can haunt my life like a ghost-i have lived someone's mistake before- like the figures of 1 in every second i know the pain of being married to a past i hate.of refusing to accept statistics in the face of adversity--we all have secrets that we don't want told-we only have parts we carry dead inside