Blissfully Ruined

Aching with proud vulnerability,

reminding myself I don’t have to apologise

a hundred times a day just for being me,

that I have nothing to be sorry for,

but I stand here, frozen, worrying

that I will not survive if you do not

hold me and quell the fear

in my shaking nerves.

Longing to tell you that I love you but

I just can’t form the words. I’ve been broken and

I am still learning how to put that back

together. I am not the same kind of brave

that you are. I am not able to peel

myself away and shed the quaking

inside. There are a thousand things

that I want to tell you and the syllables

just don’t come out. They freeze. Suspended

in time because it is never the right moment.

Quivering at the thought of your arms

holding me safe. Secure. Loved.

Where the home in my heart is.

All I desire is to be a different kind of brave.

So here it is: I love you and I don’t know

what I am supposed to do to show you. I

don’t think anything I ever do will be an

adequate form of expression if I try to speak

the words. But this I do know, I can show you.

Let my hands, my lips, my body spell out

what letters can’t. Let me write sonnets on

your skin with my hands. Poems with my lips.

Let my body write love letters across your skin.

Let me ruin you so that you never crave the

touch of another and you forget all that came

before me.

Let me ruin you for you have

already blissfully ruined me.