pink polish...

I don't want to be tender.
I especially don't want to be tender near you.
I'd much rather be invincible,
strong,
a cold stone wall.
You could kick me if you needed to.
I'd be glad to be useful.
Given my wordchoices,
given the splendor of your aura,
given the scars I hold within,
and my need to bring them light,
given my tendency to fertilize fantasy
and my oft-unexpressed thirst for softness,
I wish you'd go away.
I wish you'd welcome me into your arms.
I wish I had more answers
and less adjectives.
Whenever this happens,
I'm sure it should be my fault,
and it's all in my head anyway, right?
And yes I'm scared of girls,
and yes some voices are still telling me
that I should be ashamed,
even after so many years of reflection on the subject.
I could blow petals in your direction.
I could sing like a robin on a warm
spring midmorning.
I could bake you muffins,
and paint your toenails pink,
even though I don't understand this instinct,
if only I could get over myself.