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Touch me.

Touch me in the space between

each rib cage, where I believe

my soul resides,

I’d like to know that you can feel her.

Touch me on the nape of my neck,

where I carry the weight of the world,

and let me know if you might

be willing to share some of this heaviness.

Touch me in the invisible places

that I hold my hurt

my secrets

my stories

and remind me to pay attention

to them—the last thing they need is neglect.

Touch me in the moonlight

where I often hide,

but long to know that someone still sees me.

Touch me in the sunlight,

where hiding is not an option

and all my imperfections are illuminated,

and show me you don’t mind

them one bit.

Touch me in the place that moves me,

which will in turn move you,

so we can move together

in a way that only two people

who have touched each other can.

Touch me with your words

or with your heart

or with your fingertips,

touch me there

or here

or even right over here,

I’m really not too picky.

I’d just like for you to touch me,

and gently remind me

that I am real.