Vulnerability in Poetry: Expressing Fear of Letting Someone In

A woman sits peacefully on a lakeside pier, surrounded by misty mountains and a serene reflection on the water.

Letting Someone in Scares Me

Letting someone in scares me,

like opening a door to a storm,

the wind howling,

the rain pounding,

the chaos of unknown shadows swirling,

my heart a fragile bird in a cage,

fluttering at the sight of light. 

Familiar walls surround me,

painted with countless shades of solitude,

a fortress of whispers and quiet sighs,

where I am both the ruler and the prisoner,

where every brick holds a memory,

every silence a comfort. 

Yet, there is a softness in the air,

a curiosity that lingers like morning mist,

the warm touch of a hand reaching out,

the smile of someone who sees me,

sees past the guarded windows,

beyond the heavy curtains drawn tight. 

But security is a cloak

that wraps around my shoulders,

and I worry,

what if it slips

when I finally nod and say yes,

when I begin to peel back

the layers I have stitched so carefully? 

What if I find they carry storms too,

or know how to reach into my corners

and lift out pieces that I thought were hidden? 

Will my cracks widen beneath their gaze? 

Will they step through uninvited

and shatter the glass of my heart? 

It takes courage to unfurl,

to breathe with open windows,

to allow the sun in,

risking the brightness of vulnerability,

where tears might flow freely,

and laughter might echo through empty halls. 

I stand at the crossroads,

my feet rooted in the soil of fear,

while the road ahead glimmers

with the promise of connection,

of knowing and being known,

of warmth on a wintry night. 

But the ghosts of what once was linger,

each face a reminder

of how I loved too deeply,

only to watch the light flicker,

watch the dreams fade like whispers,

slipping away like sand through fingers. 

And so I hesitate,

caught between the pull of the heart

and the weight of past sorrows,

wondering if the risk is worth the reward,

if the flood of hearts can swell

without drowning me in the depths. 

Yet, here you are,

a lighthouse through the fog,

patient, steady, shining truth,

a beacon calling me home,

and slowly I feel the walls begin to soften,

the bricks shift like ancient trees

yielding to the gentle touch of spring. 

To let you in means exposing the roots,

the tangled knots of fears and hopes,

the patterns of pain drawn tightly,

to trust that you will walk carefully,

that you will tread lightly

on the tender earth of my soul. 

So as I breathe,

I linger in the space between,

the thrill of possibility

dancing with the weight of worry,

and I watch the clouds part,

feel the sun warm my face,

and for just a moment, I imagine

what it might be like

to hold the door open wide.