I always check if the door is locked.
Just how lonely have I become
to think that the sight of a passerby
is a threat to tear up my skin
and reveal what it is to be human?
To feel and to be hurt and to invite feeling again
To give another person the key so consciously
To allow them to throw it away
To let them see the heart that pumps all that I am.
I always want to make sense of it all;
something tells me I only have to feel them.