You may not be able to see it,
but these new cuts are deep.
I don’t have a tough exterior.
I’m not some warrior woman
wearing armor to protect
myself against love’s blades.

I am strong, a fighter, yes,
and maybe also naive.
I’m an idealist armed with trust. 
I am ink and emotion and poetry–
wild, and winged, and free.

These are my strengths,
the best gifts I can offer
in this game of love. 
Striving to be true to me,
I extend a beating heart
in trembling, hands.

I take up magic and hope,
and words instead of armor.
I reveal my fear and weakness,
show the best places to wound,
ask you, trust you, not to cut me.

I trace my scars with your fingers, 
tell the stories,  the lessons I learned.
I believe that you are different, 
worthy of my trust, man of your word.

I’m learning, that your silence
is a razor blade I imagined harmless.
I believed it safe, maybe even dull.
Maybe you did too? And maybe you
can’t see it, but these new cuts are deep.