April 3rd, 2021
His fingers can pry anything from my heart without even getting dirty. Instead, he walks away cleaner; I sit still, violated in the prettiest way. He sees inside my head without needing a flashlight. Instead, his own light shows him the way; I sit still, keeping the door cracked for the moment he gets too used to it. The feeling I get knowing that he has me inside out in the palm of his hands is not a comforting one. I feel nude in a crowd of people. I feel out of pitch on stage. I feel left out from a secret well kept. I feel awkward in front of myself in the mirror. The girl I am is not the girl I am used to; the man he acts like is a man I have never known of. So to feel his fingers on my heart, and hear his footsteps on the floor of my head, making himself at home, I do not know what to feel. Sometimes the door entices me, the lock teases me with a promise of being safe and alone. But the open windows offer me peace. They offer me a new beginning with someone. But I don't want to be inside out. I don't want to be easy to read. I don't want you behind my eyes. I don't want you to crush me in your palms like I expect you to. Surprise me. Catch me off guard. Do something no one's ever done before. Fall in love. Make the mistake of thinking you can carry me across this river. Make the mistake of thinking I can swim if you drop me. Make the mistake of thinking I know how to change for someone. Make the mistake of thinking I know how be honest and be true with my own desires and feelings. Make the mistake of thinking my mind isn't plagued by an ugly little girl who will strangle you the second she sees you trip up. Make the mistake of thinking I am easy to love. Make the mistake of thinking I can easily love back.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
PoesieI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
