Cracks in My Armor

I’m learning to let your hands trace the cracks in my armor  

Morning light carving forgiveness into my ribs  

You say, “Breathe,” and my lungs remember they can expand  

Like flowers unfolding after a century underground

I used to count my scars in silence,  

Map every fault line from years I couldn’t speak  

Trauma taught me solitude, how to build walls higher than my pulse  

But you… you unspool my defenses like ribbon, gentle and relentless

Last night you whispered love through the hollows of my voice  

I almost flinched—because love used to be a warning sign,  

A fire I couldn’t control—  

But your words fell soft, like rain coaxing seeds awake

I’m practicing:  

Reaching for your hand without bracing for impact  

Letting my heart unclench, slow and uncertain  

Trusting that, when I open, I won’t break

When you say, “I love you,” I repeat it in my mind like a mantra  

Learning the taste of a sentence that wasn’t edged with fear  

And when I murmur it back—my voice trembling—  

It isn’t a confession of weakness but a declaration of hope

I catch myself rifling through old pain, as if it’s the only currency I own  

Then you steal it away, trade it for laughter echoing in our living room  

You teach me that giving love doesn’t bankrupt me,  

It multiplies—folding into every shared breath, every soft “goodnight”

Tonight, I hold you close and count each beat of your heart  

Two rhythms intertwining until mine forgets how to tremble alone  

I am not just the sum of my broken pieces anymore—  

I am the space between them, filling up with possibility

I’m still learning—every day a new lesson in opening doors  

But with you, even the smallest crack of light feels like home.