The skeletons in my closet are more like
Old beer cans tied to the bumper of
Some just married couples car.
Clanging loud behind me as I walk
Never letting me forget they are there.
And the faster I run
The louder they bang around.
Dancing their sickening marionette dance
On the rope I trail behind.
Screaming to the world they belong to me.
I’d cut them free
But they are my children
Bastards of circumstance
Dreams and histories
and they are mine.