I glare at the full-length mirror trying
to comprehend this mess
you see in me.
You stare at my flaws, these holes in my life,
blaming them for the problem
burning at your core.
But I accept them as me.
Yet you plug them with bandages
of lies and deceit,
which layer over and over again
wrapping me like a mummy,
I would be dead on the inside.
I choose to leave them open,
permitting air to flow through me.
I see no blemishes in the mirror.
Only an abstract work of art
stands proudly before me.
My holes are like
Draw the lines between to make my constellation
in this celestial body.
They are the map
that leads to my treasure of life.
Please don’t try to cover them up
to make you feel good that I’m whole again.
Only you are the problem in this equation because
I know these holes won’t close.
But I accept them
because I’ve changed from the pain.
I am allowed to breathe now,
the pressure never building
as my stress flows freely out.
They allow me to live now.