In your arms, I am happy.
I can, for once, be the weak,
Vulnerable, innocent, rather than the usual
Strong, decision-maker,
The one who takes care of everyone else.

I can let my levels of defenses fall
Flake by flake, stripped off by the layer.
Scraped off, painfully setting me free
Of my daily worries and concerns.

But when I leave, the most painful thing
Is to have the layers re-painted on,
Layer by layer, a fresh coat of new paint.
More painful than the stripping,
The process dulls my mind of all things,
Perhaps even the sweet sensations
Of only moments ago.

So I once again assume the position
Of the overseer of all problems
Presented to me.
I look forward to when I can see you again,
So that I can peel off my layers and be
Weak and vulnerable again.

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