What would we be without it Knocking on that back door, probably the best place to be huh? Nobody's got to answer it ever, not even me and it's my own house. That doesn't mean the tapping doesn't get to me. I still hear it loud and clear and ringing in my ear but only when the day get's quiet enough, quiet enough to let secrets slip and words run free because somebodies got to fill that quiet. But nobody has to answer the back door. Thats why I put you there, safe, sound, unmoved and there for me to look at but only me. Then whenever anyone asks what that noise is I can cover you up, pull down the blinds, turn on the water and make small talk. Funny thing is, I miss the part in your hair, that little curl on your neck, and that funny rip in your shirt so much that the second i close the blinds, I gotta peak through them again to make sure you still are there. Never leave, keep on knocking, because i like you there. You just have to understand, when company comes, or the day goes quiet, please...please be still. Knock a little quieter, move a little slower and read the lines running through my head that explain how come you can never come in. Because it's not easy to keep loving you and hiding you all the same.



Authors Note:
I don't like writting about nothing but sometimes when I go back and read my mumbled heaps of words, I forget even what the subject was in the first place. Since I am pretty sure no one anonymous will read this ( therefore making it like my only diary) I might as well explain. When I rest at night, i feel the layers of my mind unfold like the peel of an onion. As each thick layer pulls back, I find exposed all my worries, all the lies I've ever told, all the things I regret, and all the expectations there are set for me. I just find it weird how all those make me, make the me that I hate and love all the same so I would never want them to change or go away. The worry and anguish comes not from mistakes or mutilation but thoughtful calculation. However, I can't control other people's opinions and that kills me. So when i lay still enough, if conversation slows, or if people ask enough questions, all those little worries start making my heart beat fast and my palms sweat and i wish that life was just....perfect. But its not. In short, secrets cover my back porch, knocking to come to the surface, louder at night, softer in the day, but I don't think i'll ever answer. Becuase i like to look at them, like to have them, but never want anyone to see them. Ironic no?  ¶ 9:18 PM