I Refuse To Be With You Unless You Look Like This

I refuse to be with you unless you have eyes that see me — in all of my damage, and all of my dark. I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of eyes that accept me, in all of my flaws; the kind of eyes that have seen into my chest, that have explored the deepest parts of who I am, and have chosen to keep going, to keep excavating the hollow of who I have been and who I am becoming.

I refuse to be with you unless you have hands that hold me when I am hard to love. Hands that hold me when I am in my head, when I am deep in thought and overthinking. I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of hands that dig through the dirt of me, that do not shy away from touching the parts of my soul that hurt, that parts of my skin that ache.

I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of ears that hear me, the kind that listen without judgement. I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of ears that refuse to tune me out when I bring up things you may not want to hear, when I talk to you about my insecurities or my doubts, when I shyly come forward to you with things that have been bewildering me or the things that have been filling my bones with bliss.

I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of mouth that is soft, that is not a weapon when we are at war with each other, when we are working through the past and the future, when we are figuring out how to love better, how to grow together. I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of mouth that speaks to me on a different level than most, the kind of mouth that asks me about more than my day — that wants to talk about vulnerable things, things that come from the depths of us, things that connect human beings, things that stretch far beyond the surface of it all.

I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of heart that protects the person it chooses, the kind of heart that commits and strives to stay passionate. I refuse to be with you unless you have the kind of heart that understands mine, the kind that does not judge the bigness within me.

See, I am not ashamed that I have a type. I have loved and I have lost enough to know that I deserve more than what I have settled for in the past. I have grown, have pulled knowledge out of my brokenness, have truly taken a look at what I want, and what I need, and I refuse to accept anything less than that, because I crave a love that sees me. I crave a love that hears me. I crave a love that holds me. I crave a love that runs deep with me, and above all else, I crave a love that protects me. A love that keeps me soft.