The Scariest Parts Of Ourselves.

 

the scariest parts of ourselves

are the parts

we often pretend aren’t there.

the parts of us

that we keep

from the people we love.

 

they’re the thoughts that hide

in the back of our heads

behind corners

and in dark shadows

where the streetlights

don’t quite reach.

 

and where the streetlights

stop shining

and the footpath ends,

there is always something lurking

hoping to claim you

as one of their own.

 

they’re the things

we pretend never happened,

hidden in a book

like a letter from a lover

that you promised to burn

but kept instead.

 

the writing is fading

from the years gone by

and the folds in the paper

are almost tears

from the amount of times

it’s been reread on lonely nights.

 

they’re the person we are

but pretend we aren’t,

that shows up from time to time

in the form

of dreams we don’t share

and love we don’t chase.

 

they’re the feelings we avoid

and the denial we hold,

that sometimes the person

we’re lying next to

isn’t the person

we wish was there.

 

and the scariest parts of ourselves

are hidden in old books and dark-lit streets.

hiding in the part of us

that isn’t scared of monsters,

but of empty beds

and lonely sheets.

 

 

 

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