Being
completely naked is not the real vulnerability, it’s the deepest fears and most
wanted dreams. My soul has layers that no one has reached. Telling you
how I feel is being naked. It’s knowing you may not feel the same. It’s having
to give you the shovel and hope you won’t quit halfway as you’re digging. It’s
also knowing you may accept me, change your mind, and walk away.
A
naked soul is letting you see me like no one else has. All lights on. It’s you
seeing why I’m the way I am. It’s me giving you the key to the padlock heart
that no one has been able to open. It’s the door to all the insecurities,
fears, and regrets. It’s quitting the act, taking off the mask; letting you see
why I’m a little fucked up and knowingly show you what made me the way I am.
It’s
me opening the legs of my soul and hoping you’ll make love, not fuck me over.
It’s letting you see inside me: beyond the beauty, all the ugly. It’s ripping
off bandages to unhealed wounds. It’s hoping you won’t hurt them more. It’s accepting
that you may be the reason I bleed endlessly. But hoping that I get I will
love all of it, especially the parts that you can’t love the most.
But
I guess I am naïve to want a love design this way, because no one gets this
kind of naked anymore. We just take our clothes off.