I don’t tell her

don’t tell her how easy it is for me to burst

how little effort to make me cry

don’t make a fuss, you’re not a child_ control yourself for heaven sake!

not wanting to make a fuss_ but instead causing tension, frictions

I don’t tell her

don’t want her to know how many stab wounds there actually are

it’s hard to talk to fragile, it bleeds

but rocks don’t bleed, I once heard / maybe that’s true, but fingers drip in red

maybe it’s paint stained with pain

so I don’t tell her

I leave it inside, as it spills outside anyway

We all have something to hide. We keep our bodies hidden under baggy clothing, and our porn magazines under our mattresses. What do I have to hide, what secrets do I have to bury deep inside my underwear drawer, what possession of mine should never be seen? My most twisted thoughts ranging from mutilation to sexual violence, all awaiting to be written down, and later torn apart so my family doesn’t find out. If I ever do write it down. Some things aren’t deserving to see the light of day, or the light of my lamp as they’re hastily scribbled onto a blank piece of paper. What’s wrong with me, has my deep-rooted anger grown into something horrible. Something that will consume my mind and make me into the next Jeffrey Dahmer. No, these thoughts are just fiction, I have the moral compass not to act on them, I even have problems watching people prick their fingers for mandatory blood sugar tests. I’m no monster, because this darkness is strictly controlled. You couldn’t see my horrific ideas through my actions, but when you get to know me more, I may open up that metaphorical underwear drawer. And show you things no man should ever see.

In my underwear drawer

I hide

My underwear.

Dark and deranged

I only wear black.

The colour of my soul.

I hide deception

And sin.

How I fit them all in

I don't know.

My outer garments are bright and breezy

Smiling boldly.

But beneath

No one must ever know

What is there,

Dark and deranged.

The colour of my soul.

Hidden with my underwear.

I don't know why I can't tell you.

The words burn in my chest, crawl up my throat

But

...

Stop

…

Before they can pass my lips

I've lived in this world - with these people for so long. I don't know how to be anyone other than me.

…

Me

…

Who is Me?

My family - friends - all like to say who Me is

But why can't I believe them?

My lie - my greatest secret?

I don't know who Me is anymore

I would hide, if I could, the book I wrote. I knew, when I started, as the first page was written, that this book would never see the light of day. I bolted it up and carefully hid the key and I finally felt truly free. With not a single worry or doubt, I wrote what I was really about. I laboriously wrote about the truth, about the pain and the passionate love. With no one looking over my shoulder, I wrote without restriction. I wrote without caring what others would read. About whether people would call me crazy, or my mother would sit me down for the “talk” about what was wrong with what I thought.

I would hide in my underwear drawer that book I wrote and would pile upon it the rest of my hidden soul.

I hide demons in my underwear drawer. Yes, the little orange drawer overflowing with undies of different fabrics and colors. You see, the little orange drawer has undies deep under that came from a time I don't even recognize anymore, a time I wish I could erase. The little orange drawer has seen terrors of a life that keeps on haunting me. A life that wouldn't stop plaguing my dreams at night. The little orange drawer hides demons I'm afraid to face, demons I can't face. These demons eat my hope for a future away, like a dementor sucking out all the chances you've built for yourself. The little orange drawer contain notes I've shakingly scribbled. Notes that shouldn't even exist but they do because the only thing I could talk to without being screamed at was paper. These notes contain my downfall, my shame, my misery. I always look back at the demons in that little orange drawer. Wondering when I should open it. Should I still even open it? You see as much as I want to keep my demons locked up tight, I don't think I have it in me not to set them free in front of love. I told myself I'd be honest to love, that I'd show my scars and demons to love. But what if my scars are too rough to look at? What if my demons are too scary to dismiss? What if my soul is too dirty to be loved? So many 'what ifs', and no answers to any of them. I wish I could say that the demons in my underwear drawer don't exist, that they're all part of a bad dream I had at the age of 12, a bad joke, anything bad but not real. Anything but real. But this is my life, this is what happened, and I have that little orange drawer. The brave little orange drawer that holds those demons for me, until I can hold them myself.

If I could hide anything in my underwear drawer I would hide my sweet little secrets. My sexy little kisses that send shivers all over my body. The feelings soft sensual touches. The soft breath in my ear as he whispers sweet nothing's in my ear. That way I would always have them when I wanted them again.

My sorority does not allow drugs, alcohol or paraphernelia in the house.

I have drugs, alcohol and paraphernelia in the house.

The drawer isn't special. It's no top secret place. It's just a drawer of my undergarments. I just started throwing my contraband in there without thinking about it, and kept using that same location since. There's a cart, a vape battery, cigarillos, lighters, bottles, marijuana, and cigarettes.

Sometimes the house smells, but I deny that the smell is coming from my room. I don't care too much if I get caught because it's not like they are my parents or anything. I'm paying for the sorority experience, not a second set of parents. Getting caught wouldn't be ideal, however, because I'd likely have to sober an event and risk being kicked out if caught a second time.

So while the drawer may have items that can spice up a night, it also has my underwear, bras, lingerie, and socks. Drugs and undergarments. That's the top drawer next to my door.

My palms begin to sweat as WildWing searches through my trunk. He gets to my underwaer, and I try my best to look emberissed.

"You know I can't hide anything down there," I grumble, with a dramatic eye roll.

"Actaully, ShyBird, I think you did," WildWing replies firmly.

"Oh, dear brother," I murmer softly. "Where? What do you see?" I look into the trunk, and repeat what my eyes were telling him- a lie. "You know I would't... besides, theres nothing there! Just wood."

"The bottom of the trunk on the inside doesn't match up with the bottom on the outside," he says, fingering the wood.

I don't argue, I know it would never help.

He manages to open up the little door, and finds a long, thin branch that glitters in the sunlight.

"Your wand!" WildWing exclaims.

"Oh, right," I finger the wood, and my brother gasps when he saw I got it from him without struggle.

"What's going on, WildWing?" SwiftWind asked from his post.

Luckily, I had already disapeared with my trunk on my back and my wand in my hand.