Will you love my soul?

Not the version of me that’s easy to admire—

But the one that breaks pattern and speaks storms.

The part of me that doesn’t arrive polished.

That asks questions too early, and sometimes too loudly.

That doesn’t always soften, doesn’t always smile.

The part that wants to be felt—not fixed.

Will you love the me beneath the mood,

beneath the role,

beneath the performance of peace?

I know how to be beautiful.

I know how to be helpful.

I know how to hold space for everyone else’s becoming.

But I am tired of being praised for what I do,

and starved for who I am.

I want to be known—not admired.

Touched in the places I do not show.

Met in the caverns of thought I rarely open.

Witnessed in the wilderness of my healing.

I am not just light—I am a constellation of shadows and revelations.

I am not always easy, but I am always true.

And I will no longer shrink into palatable to be preserved.

Because I have tasted surface love,

and it left me hollow.

What I crave now is depth.

Uncomfortable, inconvenient, glorious depth.

So if you come close,

come with eyes that can see beyond the obvious.

And answer me without hesitation:

Will you love my soul?

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