i stand scraped clean of sentiment
my viscera tightly coiled around nothing
it is only a brief moment of clarity
before the loathing and longing
insinuate themselves back into my spine
wrap themselves around my mind
and render me weak again
and so i hold on tightly
precarious in my ironclad isolation
dreading discovery
yet craving a place to fall down
that is soft, yielding
a place to be embraced
to expose my naked self
my skin is matted with scars
left by strangers to this land
the marks do not bother me
i’ll wear them with pride
but i am becoming wary of my borders
i am led to consider strategies of defense
and post sentinels on the edges of my vision
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