My love, I am not sorry you saw

how broken I was the week after it

happened. You will never hurt me again

like that. The next time, I will

leave. Understand this, it was not

that you loved her that afternoon

in the adobe sun that burned, it was

the betrayal. I come from a history of lies,

so let’s make a deal: No more hiding, no more lies.

Can you handle this? Can you show up

with your truths and broken parts?

If I show you the cracks in my

foundation, will you cringe? Will

you fly to Paris? Climb the Taos

mountain? Run to the Carolina

countryside? I can make room for

your sad stories, for your missing

pieces. You say I am angelic,

are you ready for my darkness?

Can you handle a dose

of realness, my love? Just a touch.

I am here, right here. I am cracking

my ribs open to show you parts

no one has seen before, telling

you stories I had crumpled

into tiny balls so well hidden,

I forgot where they were. I will

unravel. Can you handle a dose of

crazy?

The woman you love

is standing naked before you,

will you run?

"The woman you love is standing naked before you, will you run?"