Through the Keyhole

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If love is a choice, it is best to know the truth of what you're choosing. See everything instead of just peeping through a keyhole.

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.

 

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.

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