the edges of myself

words, words, words

Among the many realizations I’ve had about myself of late are these two things: 1.) Despite my belief that I am an incredibly open person, I have some pretty massive, fortified walls up around me. And 2.) I have a really hard time trusting women. These two realizations both hit me like a ton of …

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your perfectly unprotected form defenses down, exuding innocence and beauty– the gentle curve of your shoulders– a silent tribute to adolescence and a boy who still peeks out from behind the eyes of a man.   the soft rhythmic movement of life rippling through your cells– each one perfectly formed and singing in concert– professing …

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i will always keep you safe– wrap you up in unending arms carefully shield you from the demons and monsters who prey upon you in your mind.   i will shut the door and lock it tight– closing out those thoughts that leave you desperate and clinging to a structure that is yours to crumble. …

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I’ve closed my heart before locked it tightly– buried the key beneath layers of shoulds and coulds and woulds   I’ve watched myself walk away treading carefully, moving backwards longing for an explanation some semblance of the truth   I’ve understood the sting of rejection– internalized its pointy edges, embracing their lessons along with the …

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this is for me. a necessary part of my process this singular narration a weaving of words to give birth to these feelings welling within– unnecessarily contained. The worlds of trust you are teaching with your reticence and fear are miraculous– though not without bruises and bumps– sometimes maybe even a little blood. i know …

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i cannot compete with a ghost her hold upon your heart– gut wrenchingly precise.  keeping you folded– a neatly stacked pile of protection, save those tiny glimpses of trust. Nor can i measure against a sweet babe, her newness and discovery perfectly prescribed for your carefully crafted vision of lonely. My arms cannot extend past …

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