We Never Had A Choice

My deepest secret smells sweet:

of candy and syrup much too strong.

It smells of railroad tracks and red dirt,

of door polish and cracked mirrors.

My secret smells like faded blue leather,

of disappoinment at a scarce meal.

I smell asphalt, rubber balls, and library books,

street lamps and a spring chill.

It smells like an unfamiliar jacket,

of plants in a dark courtyard, and coffee.

There's new pages of books, popcorn, and a water fountain.

French fries and fear, fair grounds, and damp grass.

There's spit and navy blue nail polish,

and old converse shoes and hands much too large.

I smell...betrayal.

Just a hint, veiled behind too many expectations.

I smell makeup and a scrap of paper unfolded and refolded over and over.

There's an old cellphone and so much denial.

It smells like a beach house at 2 A.M., of quiet giggles in the middle of the night.

In simplest terms, my secret smells of innocence, pain, and enduring hope.