I’m Getting Help.

You called me guarded,
And I laughed while subtly denying it.
But I lied. That shit was true.
Because if it wasn’t,
I would have laid my heart out on the table.
I would have pinpointed areas where it hurt,
Acres of muscle dead from the pain,
Incapable of permitting planted love to grow.
It rejected grains of affection intended to germinate into love.
I would have allowed my deepest desires to roll off the top of my tongue,
Learned to relish in compliments;
Those said and sung,
Whispered and typed out.
Maybe we wouldn’t be here.
But my fingers twitch and my jaws clench
At the thought of openness,
The idea of vulnerability.
Confronted with the fact that I still consider you my serenity.
Home away from home,
A sweet relief,
You, my dear, are my honeycomb.