Secrets and Bricks

Fill the room with secrets. Fill it with... secrets.
I was sexually assaulted by a homeless man as a young teenage girl.
I hate my scars and love my scars.
My dad touched me. I tried to forget.
I'm afraid of toothbrushes.


Hold these secrets close to your heart, so much that your chest swells with each tha-thud and wait  until the thickening silence fills the empty space between you and those who used to know you. Cover the gap in your skin with a trembling hand, so maybe they won't see as your secrets bleed out and trickle into a puddle of letters on the floor. When they look at you with forced concern in their eyes, tell them, "It's fine, everything's fine" and wait for them to believe your words. Of course they will. Why wouldn't they?

Take your secrets in brick form and lay them down to build up a wall to keep you protected.
Brick one: the hunger in his eyes you try to ignore.
Brick two: the bruises you tell them are from clumsy accidents.
Brick three: the empty vodka bottles that sit soundlessly under the table.
Bricks and paste and secrets and fears and everything you keep hidden, covered up, tucked away... Let it all surround you so you'll never have to face the world. Let those little words pierce the skin of anyone who dares come too close, let it prick the pricks, and be gone with them.

But you're so afraid... so afraid they'll find out, and who will you be if they know? How can you stay yourself when these secrets that shape you have bent you out of proportion?