Vulnerable is what I am When I let the real me outside It's not safe, sometimes, to be so carefree Should I risk hurt, or play safe and hide?
But people who love me keep asking me To open my heart up to them I don't know why that's so uncomfortable I guess vulnerable is not what I am
The few times I've worn my heart on my sleeve My words never came out right So I've practiced being less vulnerable And kept my real thoughts out of sight
People keep saying to use more words But I fear I'll be misunderstood Maybe I won't express myself right Or I'll say way more than I should
Words, I've found, are containers for thoughts I don't know why I sit here and hoard them When I store them unspoken, my thoughts sit unused Unshared—a container unopened
It's a little like having a pantry of food And keeping it all to myself Food's meant to be shared, and if it is not It helps no one—just rots on the shelf
And that's how it is with my words kept inside If love doesn't share them some way My thoughts stored inside these containers called words Can spoil and turn bitter someday
I used to complain that people didn't understand me And for that I would silently resent them But the silence, I now see, is of my own making— If they don't know me, it's because I haven't let them
To my quiet kids, and to recovering introverts everywhere.