love me, for my deformity.
When I’m…
Blanketed by darkness,
traversing sorrow’s cavernous depths –
a transmission of once healing light
now punctured, weeping silence.
Love me,
could you still?
Love me,
through self-loathing, imprisoned by vulnerability and despair.
With your adoration, extinguish disparaging belief.
Love me,
when cold withdrawal affronts, and affection is hindered.
With your warmth, melt me to sincerity.
Love me,
through the piercing sting of pain, jagged shards of memory.
With your gentleness, soften torment’s protrusions.
Love me,
when a mosaic of shattered fragments, dominated by frailty.
With your patience, delicately resect spirit.
Love me,
through harrowing insecurity, laying in the spoils of a tarnished heart.
With your comfort, dispel insidious fear.
Could you?
Would you?
Love me,
love irreparable me?
When you…
With your heartfelt devotion,
write your love upon me –
on the damaged, faulty edge of my periphery,
with soulful, scripted passion,
and;
set your gaze upon my imperfections –
inevitable flaws and indiscretions,
caress dark pain that lies within,
and you love me, love me still.
In that moment, I am flawless.
Love me…
Love me, not for beauty,
love me, for my deformity.
Love me, beautifully broken.
Love me, perfectly imperfect.
~~~~
Note: This piece also published on StoresSpace
