I know there are many poems hidden
inside of me.
Down deep and under the cobwebs
in the trunk
in the closet of my soul.
There are many
hidden there.
I’ve kept them there, rather than dig them out
because why?
I forgot them along the way.
I was too busy.
They were frivolous and I was in survival mode.
So I put them away
But I feel them now
those hidden poems,
straining to come out
and be written down
or told in stories
trite or not
good or bad
they are me.
Hidden no longer
we are free.
I will hide this one again
somewhere else in the world
perhaps at the beach
during high tide and full moon.
This time I will remember where I hid it
and return for more.

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