i think if you take how i treat the lock on my door and zoom out

– isn’t that what you told me to do?

then maybe you can translate that into something i don’t want to say.

take, for example, the fact that when i’m inside

is the only time it’s turned in my defense

because i’m not worried about who sees me

in my absence.

 

ah, perhaps that’s the crux of it;

i’d rather you know me

without me having to show you.

maybe what this tells you

is that i want you to open my door

when my room is dark and

i’m unknowing;

introduce me to yourself,

open each drawer,

play my guitar and let your fingers

find the places mine have studied

and don’t ever tell me how you know.

because if i were there

i’d turn the lights on

and kick myself into corners – watching you watch me unfold.

 

and isn’t it funny

that this is how i tell you

that i’m scared to open up?

i always use the most roundabout ways –

i can’t just say i’m afraid.

 

i think i like that if you did go in

and i caught you

i could scream in your face. 

how could you violate me like this?

i’d yell,

the same way i did when i told you to do it.

i think i like that it means i always have an escape

if i end up bare and you

knowing too much.

i was not the one who opened the door.

get out of here – get out of me –

i’d say,

and i’d be safe.

 

a vulnerability that’s only accidental,

that you earn only if you want to know

enough to risk me saying

with my key in my hand

that it was an accident,

me leaving it unlocked and

telling you to go in.