Monday, September 12, 2016


My form isn't flawless,
nor without a blemish;
but no longer shall I hide, 
behind veils of ugly pride.
My wounds, they still do bleed,
certainly, no pretty sight;
but I will let them breathe,
heal the root of the blight.
My scars I'll no more cover,
nor my fears in the dark, cower;
of pain, I refuse to brood,
out in the light, I'm nude!
With your pretty paints on,
and robes you lovingly adorn,
why should you take offense?
of someone who's shunned defense?
Licking blood off your knives,
grinding them all your lives,
you forget to salve your wounds,
dancing to morbid tunes
I am every bit as sick,
but I frankly claim to be,
which is earning me your pique,
And, I know, stoning awaits me!

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