An Open Book

A couple weeks ago, I was getting ready to head to the open mic at our local theatre. The one and only beautiful boy grinned.

"Are you going to read some of your poetry?"
"Have you seen my poetry? It sucks."
"No, you never let me read your poetry."
"...Cause it sucks."
"I'd still like to read it sometime, though."

I had to admit, he had a very valid point. He has read exactly one of my poems, and only because it was published in our college's literary journal about a year and a half ago. I had submitted it half hoping that he would see it, but half hoping that he wouldn't bother thumbing through(which he probably wouldn't have, if I hadn't left the thing lying around in my room).

Three years, and I've begrudgingly let him read one poem. Granted, there are other blurbs he's probably come across when flipping through my notebooks(he stopped doing that, though, when he saw how much it bothered me).

The problem is, I start to write, and I forget to lie. If I have any true feeling, it's on paper somewhere. It's a habit that has gotten me into serious trouble(let's just say my stepmother liked blackmail), and I have learned to guard my notebook with ferocity.

The only time he's ever yelled at me was some time ago, when he was looking for a blank page in a notebook, and I snatched it back. "Is anything in there really that bad? Do you or do you not trust the person you share a bed with?" It stung, as well it should have. He had seen enough by then that I knew better than to think he'd be shocked.

So, last week, I decided to go forth in a new frontier. I bought a new notebook. It's just a Dollar General notebook, with a blue/green/teal faux snakeskin cover(the kind of thing that's either adorable or disgusting). In this notebook, I will write things. And he will have absolute access to this notebook. He can pick it up and read it any time his heart desires, and I won't stop him or say a thing.

This level of emotional vulnerability frightens me on a fundamental level. Yes, I sleep next to him. Yes, I now live with him. He's even seen me cry. There's not a world I've kept from him except my writing. And while I'm still a long way off from linking him to this blog, the notebook is a step.

Hopefully, I won't step into anything unpleasant.