as if the bruises of my self conscious's grip weren't enough of a reminder of my
harsh imperfections,
their icy stares and startling bluntness ring a brutality in my eyes that can only be absorbed
by those foolish enough to cross over into the unmapped, untouched.
it is there where I finally feel my lungs expand and my lips moisten from knowing that I am
NOT
defined by a flaw or a handful of them, placed intricately along the paper thin lining that means
nothing in the end.
but in an instant you wrangle me back into a place where the spots matter and I don't.