If you live your life in the eyes of the beholder,
Who are you when you are alone?
Must you become your own beholder,
Or does the facade begin to crack.
And what do you have to offer
When the product you sell is not self-image,
If it reflects each of your twisted imperfections.
The mind that sits under the skin you wear.
How will it be taken when your skin isn’t transparent?
When it’s not a soft peel of reflection,
But a cleaver hacking at its mirage.
Which is the delusion?
Even as you drink water and apply lotion,
Hoping the suppleness of your skin
And soft kisses adorned to it
Make it slip off like linen.
You remain entombed in this skin
Or is it the mind that creates this entrapment.
What lotion can be used to soften the mind,
Must I first crack open my skull to release my skin?
Can you write me instructions on how you freed yourself,
Did the first incision cut through your insecurities?
Did you cut until you understood love?
Or is it love that draws the dotted line for you to follow?
Here I stand in front of you,
Cutting down my sternum till I reach my pelvis.
But I don’t bleed out my insecurities or understanding,
I just bleed out.