I've got a secret
And you're dying to know
I'm not as pretty as you think
Would you love me if you knew me,
All my ugly, dirty parts?
Thirty by twenty-three
Figures you won't understand
And poetry you won't know how to read
Two hundred to eight hundred
One hundred twenty-nine
All the pointless numbers
All my desperate lies
Trying to love myself
Trying to destroy myself
I've got a secret
And you're just dying to know
I'm shaking with nerves
Quaking with caffeine
And it's all I can do to lie to you
To tell you that it's okay
I've got a little secret
And I know you wanna know
But no one told you which questions to ask
Or what signs to look out for
I'm happy cause I moved from three to four
from seven to five
I'm still alive
I'm hanging on
It's all okay
Today
Tomorrow's another story
And you're not sure why you worry
You can't put your finger on it
And my finger is the problem
I've got a little secret
And I'm dying for you to know
I've got a little secret
And I'm dying cause no one knows

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Comment by Angie Jackson on April 27, 2009 at 9:01am
Thanks FT and you're welcome. I find writing helps me process difficult emotions, but I'm always glad of any added benefit someone else takes away from it.
Comment by Atheist Exile on April 27, 2009 at 8:28am
Hi Angie,

Thanks for your "Cult" poem and, especially, for "Pointless Numbers". You really evoke some deep feelings with this poem.

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