what I keep secret
is written on my body
underneath my skin–

what I choose to feel
shows up hidden, as tattoos
blood-inked inside veins

that hostage my heart,
a pounding prison of fear–
frozen, silent, still–

no magic portal
arrives to illuminate
who I am and why–

only the moon sees, the stars–
reflecting me back, alive

For W3 prompt #36, where Muri has asked for a 14 line poem on the subject of poverty.