If I set the truth in me free, will you still love me?
Can I trust you to make sense of the bundle of hurt I have clogging my aorta?
To salvage the bit of sanity I have in me left?
Will you be able to mould the softness that has caused others to take advantage
into a strong woman firmly planted?
Tell me that you can make sense of my anatomy,
Understand that I cry when I’m feeling overwhelmed,
Withdraw when it all seems too hard,
And talk simply to be heard.
I may never tell you that when we touch sometimes I feel empty
Will you be able to sense that, caringly draw back, embrace me with a hug,
And show what we have is actually love.