Slowly, slowly my thorns retreat back curling inwards, softening.
Unsure, illadvised they shrink under your eyes your gaze warm like sunshine.
The comfort of an autumnal kaleidoscope, the ripe smell of coffee in the morning.
All of it soothes.
My body belies my thoughts, curling into your comfort.
None of this is comfortable.
I wish to ruin him.
The thought of being loved warmly and safely sickens the dark parts of me he rolls into.
Emotional vulnerability never suited me.
Since small it meant danger.
To be soft.
To be weak.
My insecure security forces me to push you no pull you closer.
I wish to drown in you but terror keeps me from dipping my toes in our soft.
Instead, I will find strength in my soft,
I will roll my hips into the lush curves of your mattress and sleep until I can be reborn.
With feathers and not thorns.
Until I can love without fear without shame.
I am trying to learn that to be loved is not to be weak.
It is soft.
It is the sunlight hitting him in the morning
The way his eyelashes flutter as he wakes from slumber and breathes me in
The surity of his hand on my waist
The shame of my stomach is rewritten with his caress
Safety feels sweet
To hope is to be disappointed
I want i don't I want to let him love me