My Heart’s Thin Veneer

My Heart’s Thin Veneer

I’ve stood at your doorway, my toes tickling your threshold,
wondering if I should knock, if I should see if you are home.
I know you’ve told me to come over any time, but I still feel
it is such a risk
to let you see me out of my element. You may ask me to
leave early,
or not to come inside at all. It’s almost like a wedding where
the groom has only heard of the bride and
worrying what she will think at her first look at
the one who has written the words line by line. His
face might betray how afraid he is that the door will stay
closed
well after rapping softly on it asking for entrance.

I’ve told you about my heart, maybe a half of it, maybe more.
But now I stand at your door knowing this time you will
see all of it. The falls. The lies. The uncomfortable way
it shies away from dropping the façade it wears. So far
you only love half of me, and the other half remains in shade.

Would you dare to embrace the darkened shadows
I’ve hidden from you? Would you let me in the door
not knowing? And yet some unbidden hope tells me
my heart may be already welcome inside your own.

I’ve protected it with words as thin as onion skin,
I’ve ventured to this door with a resolution to say
all I am afraid to say. You may think I have said
it all
already, and that may be true. This time I’m knocking
like it was the first time we met. This time I’m hoping
you and I both know what it’s like to be lonely. This moment
I might be brave, or I might slink away. Would you invite me in
once I dared to hold out every thought of my heart?
Would it be like the start of a song with every stanza
unrehearsed and every note belonging to you?

Here it is, my anxiety on display. Here it is,
knowing all I want to say, and knowing the
risk there is in unveiling everything.
Still, I cannot wait to hear your footsteps coming
to open the door.