as an old house with crying floorboards in the night
and a consistent leaky sink by day,
our skin becomes bagged and heavy,
and as malleable as putty.
The flaws emboldened—highlighted unique;
the scarring acne,
the rounded blister,
the wine-red blemish__
All beautiful characteristics,
endearing individuality to wear at the fore;
taken by some as unwanted gifts,
to hide with powdered veneer.
We all fall apart beautifully,
as tight constraints surrounding
fast loosened chains
with our appreciative perspectives,
on “I”, on “me”.
We all fall apart beautifully.
The eye of the beholder grasps us at a midmorning mirror,
as an instant fickle judgement flees,
assessment to be critically free of our character.
There is only too much time to critique.
And why waste a seventy degree day?