I carry my keys in my pockets...
My private pockets.
If you reach in there for them
I'll shut you out.
Sometimes I’ll let you see them or maybe even hold them...
But rarely will you know what they open.
Sometimes I don’t… my keys.
I carry my words that way.
Words are a lot like keys.
I’m possessive of my words.
I’ll read an old book or poem and the words are like some old skeleton key
opening doors to feelings and understandings.
Someone else was kind and they opened up their pockets and let the words spill out
for everyone, anyone …me.
I haven’t found that kindness,
or maybe I feel my words won’t open any doors,
or free up deep understandings.
So, I’m possessive of my words.
I’ve been searching…
digging for words that will open me up...
unlock that door.
I find that I'm digging through words like I dig through my pockets,
but the words are like keys that just don't fit.
They won't unlock me...
or you.
I need a skeleton key.
Maybe open up some door, and see
what exactly, I've been trying to free…in you.
The key to your unlocking.
The key to your release.
I'll be digging through keys,
and I'll find one appealing.
It goes in, but just doesn't turn
and each time I try,
you get burned.
I want to find a key that is like
I look you in the eyes and say
"Oh honey, you take my breath away "
I’ll keep searching for this key…
The Skeleton key.