no, i am not myself without bearing my fears
upon leaving my skin and bones bare
to blister in the open, poisonous air.

no, i am not myself without bearing my scars
with which i have been gradually burned with when people caressed my brittle bones and twisted spine

truly, i am without my flaws,
yet i admire their rawness and boldness; that i have started to wear these fears and scars
as if they are a **** warrior's armor.

truly, the love i have met is bitter;
and i find myself devoid of such desire

but can you love me despite loving all that i am and will never be?

in other words...

can you love me through the chaos that sometimes defines me?
can you wrap your warmth around my flawed edges and still love me?

all upon the knowledge that..

i will be wearing my armor;
my scars will be well dressed;
and if you attempt to burn me, I will show no fear.

-boonthemoonluv

from a simple hello
came a complexity
which was you

it had been hard
with the lines scarce
and the miles stretch

but as time unraveled
our thoughts flourished
like a stream downhill

thanks to that old hello
fate has made me witness
my elastic best friend

lifeblood carefully unfurling its branches
in the marrow’s guardian cells
connecting with permeable walls
when pressure is looking for an elastic collision and
the steady stream animats the soul
bursting into a state of internal ataraxia

Limpid Elastic
Bombtastic gymnastic

Keeping pants on
This potato shape

Suspenders need not apply

Jamming her fingers into the keyboard,
You would have thought that it was elastic -
You would have thought she was digging into her soul,
Searching for something stronger than this
Broken melody.

For each and every other,
There's something to be said.

There’s something to be said for –
The security guards
With coke nails.

There something to be said for –
The alcoholics
That moonlight as bartenders.

There’s something to be said for –
The huddled mother,
Cradled child and cusped copper.

There’s something to said for –
The recluse with word,
Broken atop a glass of wine.

For each and every other,
There’s something to be said,

But one knows not another word.

For a while there was an elastic band gripping her wrist.
Then it snapped.
The taught frantic energy became dusty residue, a shed snakes skin. Fragments of it lay in the crevices of her cupped palm. Parts of it seemed to wriggle, until they didn't ache any more.
Looking up, the room remained quiet. A bad song landed through the speakers. Time started back up again. The pieces had to be scraped into the apron.