Today, I want to be fragile, delicate 

as a rose petal, vulnerable. Lay bare, 

unmasked, bask in the glory of all that isn’t.

Cry? No. sob.Release the ocean of tears.

Hold back no more.

Where shall I start? Ohhh, yes…Childhood 

suffering, the trauma that sticks like superglue.

Hmm…maybe my twenties? That was horrific fun.

Self-indulgent, self-pity, wrapping myself in a 

blanket of dreadful memories.

Ring, ring—Hello, it’s Yaira. How are you?

The greeting was not returned. Fine.

Business as usual. They call me buns 

of steel for a reason.

Maybe tomorrow.

Nude and exposed.

Maybe never.

Leave it enclosed.