That Book

I would hide, if I could, the book I wrote. I knew, when I started, as the first page was written, that this book would never see the light of day. I bolted it up and carefully hid the key and I finally felt truly free. With not a single worry or doubt, I wrote what I was really about. I laboriously wrote about the truth, about the pain and the passionate love. With no one looking over my shoulder, I wrote without restriction. I wrote without caring what others would read. About whether people would call me crazy, or my mother would sit me down for the “talk” about what was wrong with what I thought.

I would hide in my underwear drawer that book I wrote and would pile upon it the rest of my hidden soul.