Beneath the Blade

By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )

Even knowing your hands

Might one day shape my confessions into sharp edges,

I choose to lay my soul bare

A map of scars and stories,

Each vein a path only you could trace.

The danger is not the point.

It is the trust I offer,

fragile and trembling,

Like a bird in an open palm.

If your grip tightens,

If your eyes harden,

I will know what becomes of vulnerability

That it can be a wound,

But it can also be freedom,

A quiet surrender to what we are:

Two people, armed with everything

And nothing at all.

Even with your hands as blades,

I would still disarm myself before you.

What is love, if not the chance

To be destroyed

And still be willing to build again?

By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )