confidimus

I've spent an hour now--
though it was years in my mind--
contemplating,
needing to talk, but
so afraid to open my mouth
and let you in.

I've been running circles through my head,
chasing after something and hoping
it will amount to anything.
But mostly just taking memory walks
through dark corridors I thought I'd abandoned
years ago.

Where is this going?
Straight to the shelf again,
to be dealt with alone--
the same way I always have--
by not dealing with it at all,
and hoping the scars just fade.

But
perhaps we'll dig it up
and talk.

Still, I feel like I'm just
throwing garbage at you,
like I do so often.
Really I just need someone on my side,
who knows what is going on...
Sorry that I'm burdening you.

I hope, though.
That it's not awful.
That you'll give me
some of you to carry in return.
I can't expect you to carry us both
all on your own.

I can't believe it's this hard
to let you in, to let myself out-
but you listen and feel, and it turns out
there was much more of my struggle
already inside you than I
ever would have thought.

So
we dig ourselves up
and talk.