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
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?
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 –
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.