I wish to rip off your mask and talk deep with ease.
If you wish to know me, see me. If you wish to see me, look beyond the maintained by the manmade.
If you wish to make your way into my heart, open yours. I’ll look past your label, your name, and my subconscious assumptions I’d rather deny.
Please don’t put me on a pedestal unless your destination is disappointment.
I won’t dismiss you—today, but don’t book your expectations on me. I offer you no promises and tell you I’ve broken plenty in the past.
I promised forever and failed—twice.
I’ve also lived in the moment and given full-on, exercised-in-delight love.
I’ve changed men. Some woke up and others shattered.
With men, I’ve both expanded and become completely undone.
I’m the phoenix. I fly into the fire and come out transformed.
That’s why I leaped off a 50-foot telephone pole and walked across 40-feet of hot burning coals. Metamorphosis is what I do.
It’s my chosen path even when I attempt to avoid it, which I do less and less as I age. I welcome change because it’s coming.
I’d like to invite you with me, but I don’t know how long your destiny is meant to intertwine with mine.
Some main characters of yesterday are no longer on the page.
This isn’t a novel. I’m the author of this true story.
I have a say, but how many actors and factors come into play in a life? Prediction seems preposterous.
I’m a risk taker, but today I cling to certainties.
You’re on my path. That’s all I know.
I want to know more. I want to know: who flung those arrows into your heart, how did you escape the pain, and what have you learned about walking in this world? How did you learn to sing and what drives you to get up in the morning?
I want to know the answers below the answers. I yearn for soul connection.
It starts with the eyes. Yet, sometimes I turn away from yours. It’s the intimacy I crave colliding with my protection mechanisms.
I want to ask, why are you still here? And, thank God you’re still here.
Yet, I look away. I look away? Forgive me.
I’m afraid of the unknown, disappointing one more man, and death—yours—even though I don’t know you that well yet.
Only beyond words. From that other lifetime where we meant something to each other that’s been carried over here—in coincidences, synchronicities, habits, and conversational patterns.
So, lean in and tell me the color of my eyes; I’ve forgotten.
Maybe I need to go to the mirror before I can meet you where you are.
I wish to know you, to see you. I wish to rip off your mask and talk deep with ease.
See, I’ve got a thousand hopes, but today, I only offer you my hand.