I’m naked.
Exposed for the world to judge
And critique
And mold.

I’m naked.
Naturally, in my ******, I am ashamed,
Embarrassed,
Red-faced.
I try to conceal myself,
But my efforts are futile.
The parts of me that were most private
Are no longer.

I’m naked.
You drape me with invisible lavious robes,
You try to paint the illusion of modesty and security.
You gaslight me into thinking a dress of air is a magnificent feat.
But I am not the gullible “emperor” I once was.
The illusion has crumbled before it had the chance to stand.

I’m naked.
But that only means that they see all my surface;
Not the inside,
Never the inside.
For that, they’d have to cut me open
Pull apart my guts and bones
Look behind my eyes,
See what really lies within.
That they’ll never see,
They’ll never see me.
(Already, they’re seeing too much.)

I’m naked.

Shifting under my skin,
seeping into my gums,
a sensation of emence pressure,
and awareness to unbear.

Slouching with a blue bib chain,
hung around the neck,
and heavy floride notes
tickling my tounge.

Goggles sliding along my face,
Sweat rolling down wet strands of hair.
Pulling away like velcro strips,
the sound of eagerness
and hot summer swelter.

That office chair makes me shake with anticipation,
Spotlight in yellow hues,
beaming down upon me.
Staring off until team appears
and the numbness fades in.

Time for another change.

For inconvienient, expensive exposure
with a little bit of me set to be disposed.

his hands
are firmly wedged
inside pockets
unwilling to risk
exposure to this
frost-coated morning
if he tripped
or slipped
stumbled
fell
even then
he would not rely
on their numbed support
he could not trust
that they would do
what was necessary
if called upon
deep in the sherpa-lined
abyss of his coat
his fingers remain
protected in gloves
clenched and wriggling
with all hopes resting
on a return
   of warmth
   of bloodflow
   of feeling
before he gets home
before central heating
   and chill-blains
turn his frozen tips
into scalding rods
when there is
no use but
to desperately
and ironically wish
that he could not
feel anything
at all

I miss the satisfaction
of that little lever
advancing cellulose
frame by frame
for an unseen exposure
until developer hits film
producing an image
clicked at 1/60th of a second
in time

D Vanlandingham

I could not help it,
but to show you how the moment felt,
and in the unfolding of a picture, painted;
the deepest of your dreams were unknowingly shown to you
And it caught you off guard-  having, to that day..

   you never imagined,  it possible.

But you did not yet understand that you wear your dream
somewhere within the thin-walled interminglings
of the word's first primal, urgings..  and its out-into-the-light-of-day,
manifestations... (and baby, I feel like crying right now)
but I will continue
I will continue--

You never signed up for this,  I know..
but you are the one who  chose
to allow your war-torn heart,
to keep on beating//
your flame-scorched lungs,  to keep on breathing..
and now look at this mess, my beautiful--
your beautiful-everything has bled out on to me

and  everywhere that I am..  I am wearing you

And all I do  is tell you what it feels like  to wear you
but in doing so, I made known  your dream
and somehow-- within the stretch of Love's ache's, bad luck
I have become hated  for making your secret, come true--

         the revealing of the dream,  made known ::

                                                the Unfolded you.

And now, you are raging
because you never imagined, the possibility
that there would be someone  out there
that would care  enough about you
to become able  to see..

(and a man became hated, for just being  me).


Yet, even now  to this day,  beloved;
I close my eyes, and smile
within the depths,

  of your deeply loving, hatred.

Sometimes words are weapons
Add an s or a certain order and
They will cut to the bone,
Eviscerate a  bowel,
Destroy a dream,
End a life,
Break a lovelorn heart

Other times sans s fronted
They caress a weary cheek,
Lift up a tired soul
And reassure a faltered
Dream that its time
Too will come to
Faultless fruition

We speak thousands of words
Every day of our lives
Without thought,
And spoken they come
With added edges and jagged spurs
Of intonation, tone,
Expression

Or with balm for healing,
Warmth for the cold
Respite for the bewildered
Mind and soul
Lifting up repairing all
And making good
On harm

But beware the poem
Most of all! for it
Is a fearsome trap
For the unready author
Who writhes upon the created flow
Struck from their own verse
Read well by another,

For poems tell our truth
Warts and all,
And like singing lay us bare
To critic judge and common herd,
Who hear, absorb
And find us whole and
Nowhere left to hide,

We are forced to face
Reaction,
Reaction to our souls and hearts
Captured upon a pen's point,
Pinned to a board or a page
And read aloud
Where all can see

And what do you hear?
What do you see?
My God you see
The real and naked,,
The one and only,
Me.....