You've seemed to find a way
To shift and slip into the cracks and crevices
And empty spaces
And open wounds
All over me,
So now you can see me,
Not as the overly enthusiastic
Spastic
Friendly, self deprecating front.

You can see whatever small,
Injured,
Slowly healing
Shaky on her feet,
Too shaky to fly
Bird that's inside me.

And I'm so scared,
Because what if that's not what you wanted or came for?
And still.
Even still.
No bone in my body doubts you,
There's not one sinking feeling.

Only fear that I might be taking this all wrong,
And that's on me.

There's a song I used to write to.
Iridescent.
When things got bad, I used to write to that song,
Just everything until it stopped.
Until I stopped.
It's my coping song.
I was able to stop buying bandages after I started doing that.

Sometimes I'd only listen to half the song.
Sometimes I'd have it on repeat for hours.
Sometimes the typing and clacking of my fingers would drown out the music.

Sometimes the lyrics would drown everything else,
And I'd just lay there,
Rubbing the anxiety and overwhelming urge to disappear
Out of my wrists.

I'm listening to it now.
But really listening to it.
Mainly because the song that makes me think of you
Come onto autoplay
Three songs after this one.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid to be wrong.
I'm afraid to open up.
I'm afraid.
But trying to open up
Isn't so bad
When you're already rooted so deeply inside me.

And it terrifies me,
But I like it.
Not the fear, no, that's dumb.
The fact that when you lay your head on my chest,
I'm nervous,
And my heart speeds up,
But being in your arms
Is the closest to heaven I've ever been.

And there are parts of me I don't want
You to see or know about
But you haven't run off yet,
And I doubt you really will.