I turn away,but I can't hide
the stains --
these spots
that let you see through me
to the dirt and darkness
underneath;
or is it just
I've allowed myself
to be victim for my own target practice --
again;
to stand before the firing squad of shoulds
and take the hit for someone else?
Why can't I see
the dots as decorative,
or, barring that,
begin to understand
that that which wounded me
has also made me
wholly
Holy.
* * *
1 comment:
What I see: a beautiful body in a polka-dot swim suit, maybe with a little skirt, of many shades of blue and a thin silk-screened shawl or wrap draped behind the shoulders.
Post a Comment