Where does this need to
overshare come from?
"Hi, hello, I'm still recovering from
the damages of my adolescence.
Still rebuilding my heart
from the man who shattered it.
Still remembering harassment
and humiliation."
Why can't I be mysterious?
Floating into rooms through
the walls of my own heart.
My words wrapping around
necks like silk scarves.
Lonely, but never alone.
Intriguing, without saying too much.
Newspaper print with pen strokes,
a story difficult to be read.
Why am I like this?
Where is the quietness?
Where do I tuck away
the love given to me
where it would be safe
from me saying too much
and letting it float away?
I want to be a mystery.
I long for someone to try
and crack my codes.
I'll lay on the examination table
and let you extract every part of me.
I don't even need to know your name.
