Vulnerability
by: Reyna Lang

He has hurt me, but how?
I, who hide behind a mask of happiness,
I, who am not vulnerable to the pain of the heart, am hurt.
How, how has he, a man, hurt me?
I, who am filled with anger and hatred am hurt.
They, who call themselves my friends, say it is love.
I know not love, so how can it hurt me?
But his love did hurt me.
Now I know I am vulnerable because I love.
The mask I hide behind is the real me.
It is the me covered by anger and hatred of years.
Maybe one day love will set me free,
free to be happy, and not just to be happy
so these who know me do not see the real me,
the hurt and sad and depressed,
but most of all the vulnerable me.
I hide behind a mask of joy and strength,
But I am weak and sad.
My anger controls me not me controlling it.
Maybe love is my salvation not my vulnerability.




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