Worry Stone ★★★★

You aren't an idiot

You make it so easy
to slip the locks from my tongue
Open the latched doors
And touch sunlight
to the dusty rooms behind my courtyards

But if I pour out my thoughts 
Like rice or water or shiny river stones 
You'll catch too much 
You'll put it together 
Like patchwork and jigsaws
Weave your threads with slender fingers
A skein of curious contemplation

There are scars on mine
My fingers, my hands
My thoughts

Would you notice?

Would you care?

I fear you'll hear the words
I'm not speaking
The words that wear me
That I wear like weights
You're too clever by half to not see it

Not by now

Just when did you learn me so well?

But you're comfortable like an old blanket 
And I want to let it all come unraveled 
I'm tired of walls and hidden things
I want your words 
Your words as a knife 
for your fingers to wield

And sometimes I think
it might be ok
For you to carve out a place for yourself
In the hollows
And sew yourself in

But no
I ache more for comfort
Than release

So instead I sew myself shut
And I worry the words
That I want you to find
And pray that you don't