I’m not made of skin
and bone,
As most of you may be
My ribs have been replaced
by stems,
Stems that harness
miniature golden flowers
Those of whom tend to mimic
the sun’s rays
And brighten the darkest
of days

These fancied flowers
have replaced my internal organs
Their petals,
my external ones
Through the obscene anatomy
composing my own being
I have come to the realization
Of the unidentified
beauty within,
Beauty, sprawled across my skin