You're not what I'm afraid of. I think 
You could be me 
So could you see me? 
Would you let me be?

You could see my fear and sing shelters of safety 
You could notice my broken and hum fierce compassion 
I could show you my ugly and you might not turn away.

You look right at me. 
And then it could be, 
you're the first one, 
to start to see me.

Cruelty deserves no courtesy 
The viscious voice deserves no air. 
The only sound I need to hear is softness.

When you don't look away, 
you lend me your brave. 
The only shields for shame are direct witnesses to pain. 
Witnesses, not critics

When it's not safe to be seen, 
you could look right at me and dig out with me, 
a space to breathe. 
There's no gentle rest 
but a brief pause of calm 
to readjust this armour and fortify this will. Reminding me, briefly, 
we don't have to march alone. 
Witnesses, not critics.

Mane toss, grit for floss, head down, readjusting our crowns. 
Building up, building in, reaching out and frozen, hoping