Better Than Dead


I've seen skin

slide away in chunks.

Lifeless lumps

heaped on mirrored floors.

       But I am...

       better than this.

Pound for pound,

I am a holy work

from the ground up,

in whose eyes

every angel rejoices

at my likeness.

What sense, then,

in destroying the voices

that spoke me to animus?

       I am...

       louder than this.

Where am I seeking acceptance?

My resplendence is self-contained.

Perhaps today

I'll be moved enough

to fatten up on these declarations,

and eschew the now turned traditional

preservation of beauty.

Tonight, I shall dance

the song of a second chance.

Because like breath exhaled

He gives it all back

and there's two tracks ahead:

One dissolves into dirt,

and I'm not much for

dead ends.

       I am...

       better than that.

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