I am soft and mandible:  
          fresh clay,         the inside of an oyster,        the belly of an armadillo.  
          vulnerable.                      tender.  ­                             the anti-sharp.

everything is blurred.  dulled.  hidden
behind a gossamer haze and ambient noise.  
a photo out of focus.            one eye closed and ten feet back.  

dizzy.            so dizzy.            disoriented.  
there is no logic here.             no rules.             no laws.  
and that’s what makes it horrible and incomprehensible.  

the transplant recipient still dies.  the man in perfect health
                                                                ­suddenly has cancer.
the proned patient flipped back to supine for intubation
                                                codes and dies immediately.  

nonsense.  it’s all nonsense.  
it's easier to take a breath and
                                                        compartmentalize.

Yea, it’s a long time coming,
They'll say
But that’s not how I feel.
The gentle breeze against me
I have to catch myself
As I lean into it
For comfort
Pretending there’s someone there.

My cowardice has led me here
Away from the light
Once again
To exist without making
Myself vulnerable;
Not even with myself I could be,
Even if there were any places
To cast and stare at my reflection,
For it’s too dark to see.

The world is too big to push away
So digging a hole
Is a start,
But somewhere out there
I know you are
And maybe when I climb out
You’ll be waiting for me,

Or maybe not;
Maybe in this life,
I missed my shot.

before I step out into public,
I lock my opinions in a safe
that resides deep within
the ridges of my brain.
I wear a sweet smile
to mask the dull pain
radiating throughout my body.

but when I enter my safe space,
I strip myself of that smile,
and look my pain in the eye.
I dig into the ridges of my brain
to grab and unlock the safe.
I welcome my vulnerability
in all its undisguised nakedness.

Careful, love,
that you are not
too well-guarded,
sounding high alerts
until no one
dares approach
your gates.

Mind not to wind
yourself too tight
out of fear
to let loose
some brittle flaw
until you splinter
and shatter.

A closed fist
a lover never made--

Loosen your grip
on your expectations
of the audience,
and simply play
your part.

Come curtain,

we may
surprise
each other.

To be loved when its not convinient
To be loved for the hand gestures made when i talk about the netflix show i just got into
To be loved for the way i part my hair
To be loved for making a joke with the waiter
To be loved for taking the long route to get you a coffee
To be loved for being vulnerable
Oh to be loved for the smallest things and the big ones blindly.

am i deserving of love, to love and to be loved? my mind started to question back as if i have had enough. it is the pathological effect from my illness that makes me feel like my mind was playing trick.

my days consisted of hesitation, building me a wall between what i used to feel so heavily and what i push away to the point where it’s hurting me. being vulnerable sometimes isn’t right way to start it off but on the other hand, refusing to be vulnerable can be more of a tired pattern of pushing people away and hiding your emotion too. seeing the breaths of silence dancing on the screen that parts us, makes me wounded to the pain of being vulnerable.

time to feel it blowing through, i’m trying hard not to sabotage my happiness anymore.