King Dharma

I stopped reading secrets on Sundays
A little too close to home
They poke at my ribs and remind me of things
You know how sensitive the sides of my torso are
I'm far too ticklish for my own good and for you
My body tenses up when you drag your nails
Along the way I giggled

Your ribs surround a concave chest
Inside is a beat up heart that tried its best
Bruised and battered but beating nonetheless
It deserves to start fresh

The last secret I read made me cry
I bet it made you cry too but for different reasons
I wrote my secret down on a piece of fabric stolen from a peaceful place
The irony draped over my shoulders like a robe
And I was already wearing the crown