What is it about innocence that scares and frustrates them?

The soft gooey middle, tender center. Softness. Tears on tap and the knowledge that you could break me if you are not careful.

We want vixens, they say. Lips that are shiny like poison. Bodies that flows like snakes. Cold bitter jade. And hardness. No emotions, besides lust and echoing giggles. The combination of submission and empty dominance that turns you into plastic. Women. They want them hot and empty and rigid in their perfection. So perfectly packaged no taint shows through.

Well I am malleable, I will change under your fingertips, with the mood and the way the flowers make me feel. Feelings that flow and flutter and explode and pulse. I cried when a butterfly landed on my fingertip in the forest that day. I will cry more, cause every time you kiss me it feels just like that.

I will be surprised, corrected, filled with the novelty of you.

I will love you, look out. I can. And I will. Be careful.

Your fingertips stepping stones across my back are punching in the key code to unlock. All these locks. To doors. To places I’ve never been before.

So, let’s go exploring.

(This can from the part of my journal that I usually don’t share with anyone ~ the poetry pages, the soft spots ~ but you know what? That is probably the stuff everyone ought to be sharing with each other. Even if it is scary. A near stranger stumbled upon this poem actually… he noticed it, when it was going to stay hidden and perhaps forgotten. So thank you to that person for saving it, and making me feel like it is worth sharing.)

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~ by warpaintandwandering on March 2, 2013.

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