Touch me there. 

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. ~emily bartran

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