Beneath the surface,

under the swagger,

behind the pearly whites,

beyond the shattering, shaming,

self-slamming, demeaning,

is ourselves.

Our years of layers,

thick, rich, creamy,

like childhood birthday cakes,

prancing around — pretending,

when deep down all we want is belonging;

understanding us, for us.


Perhaps Merlin,

but otherwise, none are mind-readers,

and connections forged are through the heart, not the mind.

Vulnerability comes and goes,

but who we are


Our savior, our grace,

stammering, stuttering,


we will find our way.