Vulnerable Me

I hate being so vulnerable...
So exposed to the world. To its nit-picking, and judging eyes and critical looks. I hate being being so ...open.

I am crazy and confused and complex. I curse too much and laugh too hard at bad jokes. I waste too much time dreaming and not enough time doing. I yell things I don't mean to people who don't deserve it and not enough at those who do. I don't apologize enough. I apologize too much. I ran away from my family only to miss them every day that I have been gone. I am too competitive and yet never seem interested in winning. I'm just me and I love me as much as I criticize everything about my being. And yet I find it all just a little too much to just step out and give you a piece of ....this...

I hate being so vulnerable...
I love my submission but fear becoming the scapegoat. I fear that this potpourri of me is more than either could stand and yet I constantly want to show and tell, run and hide, hide and seek.
And yet when I try to condense 10220 days of living into 2 or 3 sentences on a page, in a text, on an email, in my voice it seems there's nothing to tell.
So I leave it on the table. Everything. Leaving nothing to waste. It's unnerving how interesting he finds it all, or at least amusing.

I hate being so vulnerable...
But it's my best part. The most pure part of an already clouded mind and troubled soul. It's all I hope to give him, if fear would just take a back seat...for just a minuscule moment.

Just vulnerable me.