I wear my skin like a garment, armored or bare
- jumped out of it
-or just beneath it
-or too deep in
when it’s thin,
feeling only pain
and I’m to blame
but far too prideful to be ashamed.
And I won’t be shamed
for feeling this way
when it’s all I can do…
to 'be' and stay.
I’m to be strong but not calloused?
I wear my smile in honor of you, all strangers and loves and ever-dearest ones
but there is no joy here
I am numb
or raw with it…feeling,
when moving on
and going on
and being wrong
for all the wrongs I’ve understood
and all the right things I’ve misunderstood
though I once stood...tall
My knees are weak
even clarity is viewed muckily
My eyes see too many things
familiar to my mind.
My hands seek and wreak the havoc
they know how to find.
These are the garments of matter,
the doings of Existers who forget "the beyond' to all of living’s ceaseless chatter.
These small things
These small beings,
shallow in life’s depths.
Though you call me "kin" or "no friend"
because you see this skin?
This one I am only -now- living in…
my armor when it’s ‘my’ lone soul to bare,
keeping us from recognizing the only one we share