There was a stranger at my door.
I looked through the peephole,
She looked familiar.
She wasn't someone that I wanted to let inside my atmosphere,
So I closed the door.
Bolted my locks.
I told her she couldn't come in.
I told her she had no place here in my little tight-knit den.
I mean, my place is my sanctum.
I don't let just anyone in.
Intent is in question,
there's no telling what hidden energy she
could bring.
I asked her what her name is.
She said her name is Vulnerability.
I said, "What you said?"
That sounds familiar,
yet so fucking foreign to me.
I mean, Vulnerability, what is that?
Who are you?
Do I need to let you see me?
Do I need to open up this door so I can finally be free?
You want me to express myself to you?
A stranger in my doorway.
I don't know what you're talking about
because I got too much shit to lose.
I'm trying to...
I'm trying to heal what's been bruised.
Heal what's inside, trying to swallow all my pride.
When really, I just had Vulnerability wanting to be my friend
and I slammed the door in her face.
Then I went on to hide.
I had to check my ego.
It's about time I opened up the door.
I need to say yes when I'm accustomed to saying no.
So I've grown comfortable using these pens
to become best friends with Vulnerability,
knowing that writing is our link
& she's the only one who truly sees me.
Me and her?
We got soul ties.
She got me hypnotized.
Immersed in all the natural synergy,
she's that friend that heightens my inner creativity.
She lets me be.
She let me know that all beginnings must end.
Vulnerability.
Vulnerability.
Vulnerability isn't just my secret weapon,
She's my hidden strength.