antique

undress the flesh from my bones and think about how pretty I look when I'm exposed,

how I look like a freshly stretched canvas when my scars are up on a hanger.

don't tell me that my eyes look prettier on a tray as your centerpiece, like glass ornaments you picked up at the thrift because you found beauty in their secondhand state.

I've found my hands through enough drywall to be able to paint sunsets across my knuckles, using the same hues that he used to leave on my cheeks.

I now find myself in a distressing state of being both an art form and a work in progress,

and I don't like to be admired from this pedestal as the sign on the wall reads

do not touch.

so if it suits you to understand me then please close the door 

and let me watch the clocks as every second gets me further away 

from being a prize that turned out to be worth nothing.

Author's Note

Hello, I'm not on here often but I thought I'd share a recent piece with you. :) Let me know your thoughts! (The lowercase writing is a stylistic choice).

Reviews

[Fanicia E.]

I love the imagery in this poem as painful as the feelings it coveys are. This poem shows someone whose been through a hell of a lot, but has been able to stand the test of time, despite how fragile they might be. The duality of the resilience of mankind and that fragility (and ability to do harm) is highlighted in such a nuanced way in this piece. Wonderfully written.

[drew garner]

I liked it, almost painful in what I perceive as honesty. the metaphor was great and I love the flow. and yes the past does suck for too many of us, but at least it gives us something to talk about and compare with the happiness that comes from maturity.

[Relic]

This is interesting. The past when it's bad has a way of destroying the future with residue.
"I'm not here often"...that makes me wonder if I should review when I see that. Glad I did for what it's worth.