The Hidden Secret

The hidden secret keeps asking to be heard.

The voice too loud, that angry answer,that harsh criticism.

The hidden secret that brings tears.

The secret sits quietly waiting so it can make its move.

They don’t care, don’t want to know, can’t understand.

My soul is centered in diamond, easily pains with harmful words and gestures.

The hidden secret is the hidden abuse that no one dare says.

It happened long ago, it happened in many places, in many forms over time.

A painful pattern tirelessly repeating like the designs of a rug.

The hidden secret is the endured trauma.

At 15 I looked 20 and was tough as nails.

Having made my way alone because I was:

“different, I was “creative” and smart.

Sending signals I didn’t know about to challenge me.

My inner strength was my hidden secret until now.

I am saying this as the answer to all those times boys and men viewed me as just another body, not a soul, not a heart, not a mind. Questions I was afraid to ask.

My own heart worked against me.

Loving the wrong kind that would block me from my own success mostly to help theirs. I felt like a stock that was traded or like how the sports players must feel: going to the highest bidder. You want that job? Jump into my bed, sweetie.You need that fixed? I’ll help you if you help me “get off” first. The higher the stakes, the deeper the hidden secrets.

So let me whisper to you! I am treated, I am smart, and owned the curves since 12. I have worked harder than most men I know. I finally acknowledged my own personal power, glad to have it back. That’s the truth, not a secret.