Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I reach inside of me and tear a piece of my softness out.
    It is something I have wanted to do for days.
    I stretch my offering out towards your hand and place it slowly in your fingertips.
    I want your fingers to touch, not just my outside but my tender inside too.

    I want them to know the humanness that makes up me.
    The vulnerable innocence and defenseless surrendering,
    The compulsive truth teller that cannot keep her neurotically gushing heart closed.

    The skin I have on the outside lets these things lay hidden,
    This structure helps me appear composed.
    I am shielded from exposing the more subtle workings of me,
    the pieces that would make us know we are the same.

    It’s a shame really.
    As I will spend years of my life trying to figure out how to un compose.
    How to get close enough to the center of my body to experience union
    And how to share enough of this with another so we can intimately join.

    For you to know me you must also know that I too want the presence of love more than anything else.
    That waking up every morning in the arms of it would be my version of perfect.
    And it is this unspoken desire I fear if expressed would turn everyone away.

    So my lips remain still.
    And it can only be guessed what it is I am thinking behind these eyes.
    The truth is, I am most likely considering if anyone could actually handle this.
    All the stuff that resides here under my skin.
    Or would they constantly shield themselves too.
    Wear sunglasses in the winter as I do
    And pretend it is the brightness that hurts.

    I talked around you in circles.
    The questions I compulsively ask become my place to hide.
    It wont be seen how truly scared I am if I keep you talking.
    Or how my legs shake when my face is squarely looked upon.
    How afraid I am of meeting a true gaze.
    That the gazer might only be able to maintain it for a second.
    That they will want to turn away because the softness I am is overwhelming.
    And my whole theory is then proven,
    This me is too much.

    So I prefer to be the one to look away.
    And for the other to be the one left wondering.
    In my narcissistic plundering I have forgotten that you too probably have this softness behind your skin.
    But this is a risky premonition to be certain of.
    I don’t know exactly what the layers are that you hide behind.
    It is none of my business anyways.

    What is my business is my own de armouring.
    That is why this morning I have placed a piece of my innerness in your hand.
    I decided to take the risk.
    Maybe it was a moment of miss-judgment on my part.
    It is too late now to care.
    I hope it helps to know every once in a while I am courageous.

    When our humanness is up against each others’ this time I would like to be noble enough to go without a shield.
    That if you decide to turn away,
    that it is ok.
    I have nothing to prove to you but that I can handle the rawness of me.
    That I am ok enough with my own insides that when they are exposed it is I who does not lose my gaze.

    Maybe this winter I will take off my sunglasses,
    Even though they help me feel glamorous and smart.
    But there is something more that glamorous and smart miss.
    I want to get behind that barrier of my own making.
    I want to live from the place where my softness is made.

    And if all do turn away at the sight of the part of me that is tender,
    I want to be able to still feel alright.
    Because I would know that I have shown a piece of me that is so real.
    And I would have known that I,
    had at least once,
    let the softness of me rest in the fingertips of another’s hand.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.