Analysis of Unspoken

Lets talk now
about the unspoken subject.
The facts I hide
even from myself
somewhere in my memory,
someplace that is often inaccessible,
among the anger
I don't allow myself to feel.
My thoughts on the subject?
That is another thing
I don't allow myself to feel.
They are buried with the child-self,
and I don't talk with her
as often anymore.
If I talked to her lately
she would denounce
my false exterior,
claiming the carefree woman
a sham.
And I would crumble with the myth.
It is quite difficult
keeping her silent.
Her protests are
barely inaudible,
and borders the consciousness.
Sometimes she peers out
in my eyes
through tears,
but only late at night
when there are no witnesses;
no one to know my weakness,
my pain of sinful silence.
Maybe that is why
I am marked,
so that anyone who might know me
will discover
I'm not pure.

I was a child;
a child takes what love
she can get,
no matter how wrong.
It is not only strangers
who tempt with candy.
Strangers are not trusted,
nor anymore is family.
I will never be guilty
of pure trust again.