I wish I wasn't so easily broken.
I wish I had a bolder heart, a mind that's not so brittle, perpetual integrity sheltering my blooms against the need for reassurance –
is it my fortune to break,
or will the world break for me?
After all exuberance inside my head was silenced and my veins stood spared from flooding, they left me sprawled out in the open – eyes full of fright, asking for mercy, for closing me up with every nightmare that leaked outside my skin – yet they look at me with curious pity, walk over my wide open chest, and gently disappear while clenching dying bodies through their shiny claws, leaving trampled roads for others to walk and not be amazed.
I stretch my arms to kiss the frigid blades of passersby,
What are these creatures that crawl over me? Sons of Typhon - each with two hundred mirrors, every pupil a fragment of glass igniting with judgment, their gaze with fire licking my skin - deathless, twirling like tendrils of some code I should know - guidelines written in pixels and stares, marking the outlines of how we should be. They warily scan every stem, every curve, ready to delete every leaf that dares to curl outside the lines - they move through my insides, through the splintered façade the gooey observers enter to feed on my doubts and my flaws, sowing further mistrust in the mask. Buried fast in each expectation miscalculated, the forbidden seeds of ordinary faces yearn to fight the script that I learned to wear like the armor of beauty.
What are these creatures that crawl over me? Sons of Typhon – each with two hundred mirrors, every pupil a fragment of glass igniting with judgment, their gaze with fire licking my skin – deathless, twirling like tendrils of some code I should know – guidelines written in pixels and stares, marking the outlines of how we should be. They warily scan every stem, every curve, ready to delete every leaf that dares to curl outside the lines – they move through my insides, through the splintered façade the gooey observers enter to feed on my doubts and my flaws, sowing further mistrust in the mask. Buried fast in each expectation miscalculated, the forbidden seeds of ordinary faces yearn to fight the script that I learned to wear like the armor of beauty.
producing more supply for ceaseless hunger of my amorous embrace –
devouring each piece of harvest while I'm in the process of ripening just yet –
too shabby, too shiny, too little, too grand –
laughing too silent, resting too loud –
too blue and too rosy –
Before I walk outside my house, I cautiously collect myself into ONE & SOLID again.
