skeletons
skeletons hang from the bedposts like windchimes,
freed from their hiddenness and dust for
the moment when i recall their names.
and they are cruel things with cruel names.
each day, a new skeleton comes. sometimes an old one
disappears for a while, only to reemerge later, wiser,
joined by the fresh and newly shameful.
their harsh eyes fill me with judgement
dare i meet them with my own.
only when i can muster my voice,
do i call them by name –
their cruel names burn on my lips.
but i do not fear them. i made them –
i gave them their names, their cruel names.
my fear lives in the eyes of others,
seeing. exposing my skeletons to
the world, the world knowing my shames and faults.
don’t let them close enough to see me turning.
soon, i will need a bigger closet.
Cara Swirski is a student at UNC Chapel Hill studying chemistry. Cara has many diverse roles including coxswain for the rowing team, board member for a cancer research and awareness non-profit, Celsius addict, twin, and beagle mom. She hopes to have many dogs and write many poems in her future.