I want to be honest with someone
I want to show someone the closet full of bones, my attic of grief..
I want to want someone to care for these wounds
To understand the pain inflicted by them
I want someone to want to know my truth
To gingerly peel back the dressings covering these open gashes
To kiss my broken parts and accept them as they are
To hold me whilst they heal
But every time these bandages are pulled back
When they are raw and sore
I’m under attack
Like pressure points to bend me to there will
Forever a weakness
Forever a reminder that no one will ever love the broken
That raw is vulnerable
So I use the knives that stabbed me and I build an armour