Heart on my Sleeve

   The art of keeping a secret.  Is that an art?  For me, who has a constantly burning tongue, wishing to release information, secret-keeping is an art.  The words pour out, unfettered.  I meekly and freely share with others, expecting only good can come from such vulnerable honesty.  Then I realize that I have no personal life.  Everyone already knows everything there is to know about me.  I have no hidden treasures; I have my foot in my mouth.  Venting and sharing does not bring that much satisfaction that I can leave no reserve for myself- no piece for later, nothing held back.  Why do I burst at the seams to tell acquaintances what I should save for family and friends?  Offering up unnecessary gossip to the starving wolves?  Some people may consider this openness childlike and naive, but most probably consider it somewhat shameful, or even inappropriate.  If secrets were weighed in gold, I'd be a beggar.  Even the deep dark secrets of my past, more than a handful of close friends know.  This is too many... 
    How do I learn to keep my mouth shut and spare idle spectators of my private life?  Growing up, my mom said something to me to the effect of "save your pearls."  She meant for me to keep precious information to myself.  Something I haven't learned yet. 
   If certain people knew some of the things I've so easily disclosed, they would probably feel as though I threw them under the proverbial bus.  My mouth runs and runs like a river; the water cannot be contained, not even by a dam.  It'll find its way through. 
   Maybe silence is really the art I need to practice.  I'm a good listener for sure; but definitely an even better talker.  Get me plenty of wine and I'll not only spill, I'll fixate.  I'll repeat myself like a broken record.  If you haven't heard it the first 3 or 4 times, I'll say it a few times more.  In this case at least, it is usually about completely innane things.  I save my secret spilling for when I'm sober. 
    If I were in a tragedy, this surely would be my tragic flaw.  And the irony is, this is my first blog.  Complete strangers can now know what's on my mind.  Give me a voice, or give me death!  I suppose that is my rally cry against myself.  Maybe my definition of silence is no audio; the printed word does not count?  For now...
    Until I can learn to keep my mouth and fingers quiet altogether, though, I hope I can provide a speck of entertainment or relatability to a few of you out there.