I invited you in

To take a look around,

You poked and prodded

At my tender spots

Making me believe,

Or at least leading me to,

That you might stick around

For more than a season or two.

My soft, my scared

No match for your hands-

Or so it seemed-

Until you left and closed

The door behind you,

Never again to be seen.

I wondered if my soft, my scared

Took up more room than assumed,

Causing you to cower

In the wake of my vulnerability.

But I soon came to realize

It wasn’t me who was

Too much of anything;

It was your hands, too small

To hold the parts of me

I have come to love most of all.