So you want to know all my secrets?

They're burning inside of me, clawing their way out --

An ember that turns me to black lace and denim;

pearls against a pale canvas of inked skin;

wide-eyed, wicked, and dreaming in red.

I want to sing to you songs with my pen

that scream of rebellious yearnings nearly from birth;

star-lit trailer park nights scented with smoke and cigarettes.

These were the love offerings of my father --

a nearly intangible being at times, and thus

the dearest and quietest desire of my heart.

So I smoke his cigarettes and sip a bit of his spirit

as I watch an autumn sun flicker against rainbowed stars

falling from the friendly trees and into a laughing creek.

Sometimes my mind wanders

away into the past; it is familiar there

where my beloved ghosts were yet alive.

But it is here that I belong:

With a man who makes me feel like Bonnie and Clyde --

or Johnny and June.

Sunsets in wooded mountain-tops and dawn's enlightened glow --

This is my heaven, and I have already seen its glimmer.

The truth is, however, that I am my mother.

I will sing these ink songs -- these pieces of my soul,

but I will give you only pieces of the silent parts of me,

for revealing it all would remove all doubt; all mystery.

The true secrets are the images of these dreams

tucked away among the notebook papers in the back of my mind.

Like a first kiss, they can never reoccur;

like snowflakes the viewpoints are never the same.

These things can only be seen through my eyes--

And so I keep the sweetest secrets for myself.