I have fewer secrets
The older I get.
Fewer, but choicer, meatier, damning.
Though I may be confusing it all.
Age tends to do that.
We acquiesce to Age like a bully.
Meekly, wanting to sleep in on a school day
For fear of running into him on the playground
By the swings or teeter-totter yet
Off to school we go daily building lives
Best we can If we’re that fortunate.
Still Life kicks our ass when it wants.
People can change but most don’t.
They try to stay young by keeping secrets
That can’t wait be told anyway
And simply disappear with their telling.