In the tiny span of time
in which we have spent
to get to know one another,
while you have bared
various bits of yourself to the air
for me to look at and wonder,
you have but glimpsed me
through a keyhole
as I begin to remove the layers
that keep me safe from
the outside world,
safe from the
tirades of ignoble men.

You have
perhaps
seen the mask beneath the mask,
the one that moves with the flesh,
letting my emotions through,
yet still hiding the truth of me
behind it’s
flexible rubber countenance.

But this is not me,
not all of me.

I reside behind
a door
that can only
be opened from the outside,
where you sit,
as Alice through her Looking Glass,
with the key just beyond your reach.

I offer you the key
to my door
time and again,
begging you to walk through
into my safe place,
the place where I may be my true self
and offer up my soul to you,
demons and all,
so that you may choose me
as I have already decided
to choose you.

But perhaps it is too much for you.

Perhaps you are not ready to see me
for you are still knee deep
in your own
tangled web of puppet strings
that control the tiny army
of marionettes that guard your heart.

Each string another tale
another remembrance
of how things should not be,
layer upon layer of
carved,
chiseled warriors dueling to the death.

Time and again,
I must
in patience
wait for their macabre ordeal to end
before I can attempt
yet again
to slide the key beneath the door.

Please.
Look up from your
shadow puppetry,
see the glimmer of silver
as I try to let you in.

See me
before you
decree me
unworthy
of the effort
and choose to walk away
forever.