the scars color me
in putrid red-orange-green,
the remains of a lifetime spent
among imperfections.
and i, fallible too, just as
imperfect as they,
tarnished by the world.
escape from the shell,
the suffocating cocoon...
the pleasure/pain of scabs pulled
backward and away
from my flesh.
if only i could be perfect
if only
(my skin peels away, leaving behind
the raw bones)
and what is left, beyond
the small humanity shorn off?
more imperfection--
if i keep tearing it away,
will i ever find perfection?