in conversation

Peace, grazed heart.
Settle.

Flashes of touch and lips,
And now alone.
A well of tears.
Spasms that thrive on bitter hurt.

You simply felt.
You feel.
That is how you are.
Sensitive to the slightest touch
Alive, willing, free.
Do not wish for anything else -
Another way.
It is this depth of passion,
this trusting,
this open book,
that makes you, you.

And there will always be a price to pay
Whichever beat you choose to live by

yes you feel trampled upon 

yes the wound goes deep 

yes you laid it bare for wolves to ravage -
And they did.
 

What is the alternative?
A hardened organ?

That cannot pulse without the massage of another's hand?
A glazed eye
A hollow breath
An empty touch

And how will you survive
Buried under your veil of denial
Behind your closed doors
In airless rooms

No.
Continue to feel
to put every beat
every breath
into all you do.

It is this depth of passion,
this trusting,
this open book,
that makes you, you. 

 

(by hawkandfallow)

me xxx