Vulnerable

Even the thickest callous can be penetrated, especially when it covers your heart.

The sky is a rosy pink

lit ablaze by strange fires

flush with a romantic glow.

I sit here with my pen

looking out at the hazy sky

wrapped up in a bathrobe

having washed your scent from my skin

and feverish from the heat

not to mention the shock

from the longing that won’t rub clean.

I didn’t see it coming

and I am suddenly silent

unsure of the words

that will wrap around

whatever it is they need to cover.

The sky is on fire

and surely it is my fault.

The tangling of my breath and my soul

that was carried out on the sleeve of your jacket

left me vulnerable in a way I’m not quite comfortable with.

But I watched as you walked away

keeping silent as you turned the corner

overcome with regret

either for not speaking up

or for being so careless in the first place.

And now all I can do

is watch the sky turn from pink to purple

and then fade to black as our scene ends in your mind

and hits replay in mine.

Reviews

[Lily1111]

While I enjoyed reading this poem overall and the sentiment portrayed here so very well, it was the line: "The sky is on fire and surely it is my fault." that really just jumped off the page at me. I can't articulate exactly why I adore that line so much, I just do.

[Butch Decatoria]

Not to be critical on reading your first poem (was returning a review you made on mine, so wanted to review one of yours--your view was appreciated)... the title does not work (for me) because I feel that this poem is more about a broken heart's reverie, how you've fallen apart from someone taking advantage... vunerable will be how you are when someone else came along to use and also take advantage of knowing you're "vunerable"...

Here is what My edit of your poem would look like (please forgive me if this is over-stepping my bounds)


"The sky, a rosy pink

ablaze by strange fires

lit and flush

with a romantic glow.

I sit with my pen

looking out to the hazy sky

wrapped in a bathrobe

having washed your scent from my skin

and fever from the heat

not to mention shock

from the longing

that won't rub clean.

I didn't see it coming

sudden and silent

unsure of words

that will lasso around

whatever they need to cover.

The sky is on fire

surely it's my fault.

The tangling of breath and soul

that was carried

out
on the sleeve of your jacket

leaving me
vulnerable in ways I'm not quite comfortable.

But I watched you walked away

silent as you turned
the corner

overcome with regret

either for not speaking up

or for being so careless
in the first place.

Now, all I can do

is watch the sky turn

from pink to purple

fades to black
as our scene ends in your mind

hits
repeat in mine.




(You should consider retitling to "Hits Repeat") --You can cuss at me now... 8^)

[AK]

Funny... I'm always the one that hits replay...

Beautifully done, this!

[Mistral Bilgera]

very good imagery! makes me able to see what transpired!

yeah, most often women are left vulnerable post-tryst, and i wish more men would be more sensitive to our feelings (like that on the last part of the poem)