She nourishes the poison in her veins and is consumed by a secret fire.
Everybody has this sack they're carrying. Some are heavier. Some are lighter. But no one doesn't have it. And if you think someone doesn't have it, they have a bigger one than you imagine.
I am a reflection of my mother’s secret poetry as well as of her hidden angers
Nearly everyone has his box of secret pain.
Secrets of the heart. We swallow hard against them every day, forcing them deep inside us. There they sit, growing heavier, festering. Given enough time, they cannot help but crush the heart that holds them.
Margo says, "I know what she's talking about. The something deeper and more secret. It's like cracks inside of you. Like there are these fault lines where things don't meet up right.
I almost died, secretly, behind closed doors.
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask It's hard to see the pain behind the mask Bearing the burden of a secret storm Sometimes she wishes she was never born
