Humility 24.1.014

The sound of my own voice used to make my face burn.
An outsider's perspective imposed

upon my own eyes
(the unforgiving camera lens,

revealing to me

the already-plain-to-see)

would make me feel sick;
I was my own greatest enemy;

my biggest critic.

I am still that same person.

Though I've grown, though
I've peeled away so dutifully

every internal-and-external
imposition restricting me,

I am still that same person--

and, God damnit, I always will be.

Fuck.

I hope to whatever Gods may be

that the prying camera eye
exists somewhere inside your own head;

that your actions

have been made plain

(that you have been flayed,
laid bare [for the World to see])

in some sick display meant solely
for those beheld gemstone irises of yours.