with just my name to call my own.
Clung to the warmth that tried to leave me
with a shapeless thing I’d sewn.
I found, with each new structured cut,
a safety in this second skin!
I feel I'd bleed out, left without it,
I wouldn’t know where to begin.
The cloak that hides this face
Is a shield upon my back.
I can stand out or blend in,
concealing what I sorely lack.
It’s the brightly colored plume
that draws the eyes across the room.
And unlike Eden’s flowers,
my crimson roses stay in bloom.
It’s an ancient incantation:
to conjure bull from hairless ape.
A gentle blush won’t light a carnal fire
the way it’s stoked by a red cape.
It’s an all-out revelation
fenced in silken barricade:
A mask reveals the heart’s true face
dressed-naked in a masquerade.
The cloak that hides this face
Is a shield upon my back
hiding all my ragged edges
while I patch up the cracks.
It’s the brightly colored plume
that draws the eyes across the room.
A church bell rung to mute
A lifetime played out-of-tune.
I’ve travelled far beyond the garden
armed with but a match-sized lance.
to thus create, in my own image,
a life where I stand a chance.
It’s a psychedelic magic,
this thread that weaves through all my tales!
With each tapestry I hoist,
I catch the wind in my sails.
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