My Vulnerability

I am walking my tightrope,
in a skin as transparent
and fine as lace;
so tragically beautiful
in the moonlight,
but so agonisingly unsubstantial
in the light of day.
You could reach inside
and touch my heart,
with your hands,
with your words,
even with your silence.
It quivers
with your passing breath.
See the reservoirs of tears
behind my eyes;
drop one careless remark
into their depths,
and watch them overflow.
In my vulnerability,
I cling to familiar things,
my cob-webby hands
sticking to their solid shapes;
my feet like tendrils
curling around their base
to make them my own.
And soon I am indistinguishable,
but safe…

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