Adore her as you would a limb.
Its soreness not for you
but what she does
and will do again.

Nurture her when untaught
taut with worry her brow
its knot, loosening to
your caress.

Her neck, swan upward
throat bared to your
possessing palm
finger tips lining its
length, molding.

These things are not for you.

Though they are for her,
so adore her, whether
in bent knee or her
curls ****** and
a hand fitted
to the place you claim in her.

These things are not for you.

However fitful
a slathering tongue
teeth and dull nails
may come to be
she is not for you
but she is yours.

These things are not for you.

But she is not yours
in sense
of straight backed self
strong brows and last names.

Only she may decide to be given.

And she gave herself to you,
so adore her as you would a limb
not a growth.
Or by Siamese conjunction
or twin soul mimicry,
but in function.

For you mesh
in tandem clockwork
if you choose to,
and the sense of you
is not you two,
you too,
or even an us.

Memory motion,
endorphins,
red light,
yellow light,
green, nothing.

It is.

I had a wall so high, the top you couldn’t see,
and in front there were trenches in the ground.
It had stood there strong for all of my memory,
no one could lift it or break it down.
Then one day you strolled up so casually,
you were so stealthy I didn’t hear a sound.
You asked I could remove it completely
and I suggested going to the next town,
but you knocked and you climbed so persistently
to get inside it seemed you were bound.
Finally one day I opened the gate very cautiously,
then my wall became just a brick mound.
My stronghold had revealed it’s vulnerability,
you had conquered and taken my crown.
Then you said “nevermind, this place isn’t for me.”
after only a short glance around.

You can avoid
it all you want.
Ignore it, if
you please.
Sooner or later,
it will haunt you
in uglier ways.
Because the only
way to heal
pain is to feel it;
to weather its gusts,
and to ride its waves.

Vulnerability is a funny thing. Everyday people urge us to be authentic- with ourselves, our peers, our passions. Yet when we cut ourselves open for the world to see, they run from us as if we are violent rip currents waiting to take them under. When in reality we are nothing but individual tide pools sometimes puddled into something so much bigger than what others want to openly accept.

But I refuse to not live a life of authenticity. So many souls become comfortable with safety, causing them to become deeply implanted in solely just the soil in which they have resided their entire time of growing. Genuine love for something other than yourself has become nothing but a fossil of a feeling. Streams of emotions have dissipated and turned into desert lands.

As for me, I took the time to disappear within myself. I discovered my flatlands and made them curved. Those rip currents everyone always runs from are big, but so am I. A vulnerable soul may be looked at as someone made up of only dainty fallen petals, but the truth is they're looking past someone with roots dug deeper than sunken teeth into bitten skin.

What's authentic to those who shelter themselves like boarded windows in the midst of a storm might as well be forgery to me. I urge you to not be afraid to put your innermost self into another pair of shaky hands. To not hesitate to whisper your deepest ridden thoughts into caverns of a mind that's not your own. To not second guess putting you're ragged edged heart into someone else's hollow chest.

Vulnerability and authenticity meet at an intersection that you must come to terms with stopping at. I hope to see you there.

I log into the network of my self-esteem,
To see the hearts and the wows and the laughs flooding in.
A simple 'like' wouldn’t cut it anymore
‘Likes’ were so 2010, even 2010 was bored.

‘Cause that’s the zeitgeist of the age, you see,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
Loves and kisses are a dime a dozen,
With a million friends and followers double.

National debates and social justice petitions,
Real crises, distorted renditions.
High definition photos of disaster zones
Flash up against cat videos on every smart phone.

Snapchat filters do not lie,
Just tell a story of hours gone by;
Selecting the perfect background, the ideal shade
To express love on the dozen’th date.

But that’s the zeitgeist of the century,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
To document in minute detail, with extensive pictorial evidence
Clockwork days of humdrum nonchalance.

And perhaps the generation that came before
Would call it vanity, vainglory, or something more.
But it ain’t like they were without their sins,
We didn’t invent tabloid columnists.

And now that we are at the end,
Let me sign off with this request:
Like, comment, and share your love
Let your heart fall out of your shirt cuff.

son comes home from a long day, father notices his son’s eyes begin to water, attempting to hold it all in. father sits son down and reminds him that men weren’t created to be inhumane, without emotion. he reminds son that men don’t always need to split red seas to walk through on dry land; they are just as entitled to allow themselves to flood for forty days and nights if it means that they have the strength to start again,
bigger and better this time.

father reminds son that most things are worth dying for, but sometimes, when you’ve done all you can, you must stand, take up your bed and walk away. some people will expect you to break yourself into pieces and feed all 5,000 of their insecurities. some people will expect you to come out of your peaceful place and calm down their storms before tending to your own. some people will nail you to a cross of their expectation, stab your side then ask you why you’re bleeding. there are many that will pay to see you die, whilst smiling in your face with happy eyes and impure hearts. many will call you one thing, not knowing that that is not your name, and you are so much more.
so much more.

son puts masculinity on a fast. Jericho breaks down. Jordan rushes in. there are enough tears to water Eden.

father embraces.

I wish it was easy,
reaching out,
but it's a struggle.
Every day
so lonely,
isolated.
I don't know what to do.

But I have to keep trying
even though I know
I will find myself here again.
Neverending isolation.
Is it me?

Day after day
unimportant chatter.
Smartphones in my way,
fear in my heart.

The armor comes off
ever so slowly.
Painful insecurity.
Fear of being left behind
without defense.

Though all I wish for
is to lie in your arms
and for you to lie in mine
completely bare,
all our vulnerability
on display.
We hold on to each other
fearing the moment we'll break apart,
but trusting it will never come.

I know we're on the way there,
though I have to confess
sometimes I still find myself
feeling isolated and lonely,
like now.

I'm trying to deal with it
but it hurts so bad.
Still I want you to know
it's not your fault,
you couldn't be more wonderful.
Maybe something is broken inside,
maybe it's just me.

Sometimes I just long for an embrace.
I crave a hand caressing my face.
Sometimes I wish
someone would tell me
I'm beautiful,
I'm intriguing.
It makes me feel so fragile,
but I don't want to be seen as fragile,
it hurts when people see me that way,
for its not all that I am.
I want to be strong in my fragility,
I want to be seen for who I really am.

But i promise to not shut myself off
no matter how hard it may be.
I will try to keep reaching out.
I know it will be painful sometimes,
sometimes i'll still feel isolated,
sometimes i'll feel misunderstood,
but i'll keep trying,
for you,
and most importantly myself.