Vulnerable at Its Worst

A poem.

I am vulnerable at its worst

Naked

You trace the concave jut of my neck

And eye the timid weight of my thigh

I can't fake it

I can't mask anything

With make-up or plastered smiles

Or a sunny disposure

Through steel clouded skies

You can see me

The ugly

The tucked away defects

All exposed,

A terminal wreck,

When you x-rayed my bones

And the marrow of my soul

You saw this masterpiece of deformation

Naked.

 

And your irises speak to me in reflections

Rejecting my bitter insecurities

As though Michelangelo crafted my humanity

You tell me:

It's the breathing model of perfection.

All you see of me is naked.