It starts with the roots, as any tree does/

Grandma and grandpa were immigrants/

The kind we demonize today/

Who lied about their age just to get out/

Of a war-torn country you never hear about/

Auntie will remind you she was next/

The oldest and wisest—according to her/

With secrets all the same/

Mention of her medical history never arose/

Until it was passed along to me, I suppose/

Mother was the middle child/

Never knowing best/

Never given the benefit of doubt/

Yet I never knew how many times she had been married/

Until the relationship with my father was dead and burried/

Sister was always like a second mom/

Honestly she could do no wrong/

While we looked up to her the most/

It was always kept secret with extreme discretion/

That she suffered from infertility and depresion/

Me you ask-what secrets do I hold?/

What information needs to be told?/

Maybe it’s the day I spend in jail/

To ashamed to call and ask for bail/

Or the fact that I was never happy/

Finding life to be rather crappy/

It could be that I’ve changed my life/

Trading in the weight of all the strife/

Choosing to do what makes me smile/

And stop putting mysef on trial/

I guess it’s true that the hardest secrets to tell…/

Are your own.