Knowing...

 
Acquainted with many, known by none,
a trove of secrets carried like cement
through the construction of life.
So small yet so heavy. Space so limited
yet so dominate. I try to lay them down
but I can’t. They’re attached and competing
with the routine, yet apart, a burden
that isn’t shared, can’t be shared.
Telling is sharing but those that listen
will not hear. Can I be known if I have secrets?
Will I even exist if I’m not known?
Am I real or just an acquaintance
taking up space? I beg to be known,
on bended knee, arms outstretched,
my cup held high, but life just passes by...