Quotes About Vulnerability

We were fair game but we have kept out of the cesspool. We are strong. We are the good ones. Do not discover us for we lie together all in green like pond weeds. Hold me, my young dear, hold me.

My poems only come when I have almost lost the ability to utter a word. To speak, in a way, of the unspeakable.

Let me hold your heart like a flower lest it bloom and collapse.

I am mad the way young girls are mad, with an offering, an offering.

I don't know if I can go on spilling myself out to people—those strange strangers.

I feel myself beginning to love you instead of just need you. I don't think I have ever loved anyone in my life, not really – just needed them, wanted them to love me to possess me – to become such a part of someone I could lose my frightened self…

It is June. I am tired of being brave. from "The Truth The Dead Know

My heart cracked like a doll-dish...

Sleep without pills? impossible. take pills! death? have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.

The bed itself is an operating table where my dreams slice me to pieces.

I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.

As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Do you like me?" No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered my trust. It tore cigarettes out of my mouth. We exchanged blind words, and I did not cry, I did not beg, but blackness filled my ears, blackness lunged in my heart, and something that had been good, a sort of kindly oxygen, turned into a gas oven.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

Men kick friendship around like a football, but it doesn't seem to crack. Women treat it like glass and it goes to pieces.

A poem might be defined as thinking about feelings - about human feelings and frailties.

He pulled her back, off balance so that she fell against him, and he took her face in his two hands and held it very still while his eyes looked down into hers. Somber, truthful, painfully honest. "I love you, Chloe," he said. "Which is the most dangerous thing I could do.

I want your innocence. I want your blind, unquestioning devotion to your father, your acceptance of who and what he is. I want you to look at me the way you look at him, knowing the worst. I want you to trust me, even when your brain tells you you shouldn't, I want you to ignore common sense and your lifelong need to protect yourself. I want you to give yourself to me, body and soul.

I hate to tell you, dragon, but that's an integral part of the whole usiness," he whispered. "If you're afraid to touch me then we're not going to get very far." She lifted her head to look at him. "I thought I could lie back and let you ravish me," she said with complete honesty. He shook his head, the smile hovering around his lips, his eyes intent. "This is a cooperative effort, my love. You have to do your part.

This is what it is to live in the world. You have to give yourself over to the cold, at least a little bit.

That was the point where she was supposed to sound tough, like she was someone to be reckoned with, like she was the sort of person witches should listen to. Was this really her plan? She sounded like a child.

How she hated the weakness of her human heart.

Nature can destroy us in a blink. We live on only at its pleasure.

vomiting baby fountains.