By Riley Sullivan
I’m not safe.
I’m not as safe as I like to believe I am,
I like believing I can protect myself from that, from those things.
I often wonder if it’s more important that I keep believing,
that I avoid peeling off my many, many masks to meet these demons squarely.
I’m curious about my face, my plain face unshielded.
What is the texture of my skin?
I won’t save myself this way.