You Don't Have To Be 'Who You Are' (or Some change is good)

Fall out,
shadow blows your hair back.
Chase the ground
with your solid pupils,
full of the blood you've
failed to forget;
blind balls of platelets.
The scales that cover them
have blunted your claws
and even so,
the stench of rotten, stagnant ocean
will always cling to your hair and skin;
matted and filthy.

Rugged beauty decomposed
needs only to be cleansed
who you are as putrid eyesore will change
no nostalgic sickness or
golden-framed rose-tinted memory-cleansing goggles
will ever make one regret
a change such as this:
A freeing of the limbs to life,
and a hope that all had
thought died in infancy
is the flourishing epicentre of life.

The resurrection of pure touch and talk,
to perfect contentment, satisfaction
and belonging.

Written Mid June 2011


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