Vulnerability is my vulnerability,
I pick and choose
the pieces of me to share
I shuffle my deck,
Lay my cards out
Then scuttle back,
Back in,
Under cover
To safety,
Concerned others might see.
Or, I did;
Until
Sometime this past November,
When a New Birthday gift
Enhanced my shell,
Made it stronger
And made it removable,
I need not bare all,
But I can bare.
And I can be so damn proud,
And openly admire
this body,
this mind,
this heart,
this soul,
With all the bumped,
Bruised
Smoothed,
Filled,
Filed,
Etched,
Modeled,
Molded aspects
Of this vessel;
Of this person I am.
This person
She is Beautiful;
Authentic,
Wild,
Ever growing,
Ever learning,
Ever being;
For she is living.
And I love her;
She is Me.
She of Letters 
Appreciate this so much— the shell is heavy, sometimes comforting but mostly constricting— would like to shed also!
LikeLiked by 1 person