Don't be afraid.
I still have smaller hands than you.
Touch my face. I don't mind. Feel my skin.
Press your lips against my cheek. I won't shrink away.
I can still look up at you.
Close the space
between our hips. You smell spicy and fresh like a hip hop star.
Let your nails grow in. All the rawness bleeds you dry.
I am a fidgeter too, the way I tear foil wrappers off my beer bottles and then smooth them out on the bar tops. I don't have any agenda.
Look me in the eye. My irises can't burn you.
I still don't trust people either.
Give me a shaky line in a strong voice.
I have no venom.
Share a feeling.
Your voice still carries further than mine.
Trust my grip.
I am still younger than you.
Emote.
I can still learn from you.