Unravel Me

Much like a virgin, taking her time,

too afraid to be undone completely,

unravel me slowly.

Thread by thread,

with careful hands

as if pulling too hard

might make me disappear.

Don’t rush.

Tell me, do you have time for that?

I have worn too many layers,

not to protect,

but to be wanted

without being known.

Beneath the hem,

something unfinished,

something still open,

red and bleeding.

I was easier to love

when I did not move,

like a statue

in a heavy coat.

They applauded the silk, but never my skin.

Because they never truly saw it.

So many hands tried to reach me,

but with every layer undone,

they found a shape

they didn’t want to hold.

So they left,

deciding the labor exceeded the prize.

They wanted a trophy for the mantel,

not a body that bleeds.

So tell me, do you have the patience for that?

Will you stay, when the beauty runs out?

When it’s only scarred skin?

Unravel me, then.

But understand

The deeper you go, the louder I howl.

Do not be surprised when the skin you find doesn't know how to be touched.