The Sleeping Insomniac

August 31, 2008
By Rebecca Coven, Brookline, MA

The first lesson you are taught in kindergarten is to always share.
Well, I do not like to share.

Two girls sitting around the glow of a flashlight.
Truth or dare?
Never have i ever.
Tell me, tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.
I do not even want to share with you my shallowest, lightest secrets.
So stop digging in the sand on your treasure hunt
because there is no x marks the spot
and there is no gold at the bottom of your hole.

I stuff the secrets into my pajama pockets and carry them off to bed,
suffocate them until they can breathe no longer and maybe,
maybe their corpses will wither away and disintegrate into the ground.
What I don't have, I can't share.

But their ghosts are the poltergeists rapping on the gates of my mind deep into the night.
Let me in, they howl. But I only bolt the gate.
They slip through the holes anyways and into my nightmares.

My eyes sleep, but my mind is wide awake.
Running, hiding from the secrets.
It is not safe to break, to stop to take a breath.
I am a sleeping insomniac.

My mind runs out of breath,
gasping for release, for freedom.
My heart tosses and turns in my sleepless rest.
Secrets jump out from every corner of this haunted house
and I, I jump and shriek every time.
And my shrieks, they only re-awake my mind.

Eyes wake. Eyes caked with sleep.
Ghosts scare away from the daylight.
Today I do not wear my standard shirt stained with lies
and skirt spotted with marks of deceit.

Take the secrets bursting at the seams of my pockets and
weave them into a dress: a dress of untold secrets.
I parade around in the dress for all to see.

Two girls sitting in the sunlight.
The sun's spotlight is on me.
Hey, can I tell you a secret?

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This article has 1 comment.

on Jun. 3 2009 at 8:47 pm
Hey, this poem is kinda cool


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