Layers of being (Poem)
Aesthetics of covering cosmetics
can keep appeal, as I’ve yet to be peeled
Chopped or diced, from farmers market to exposed in the basket,
for I’m not like others more fruitful.
Banana skins protect their sweetness,
and citrus sits to rest on tongues,
Yet I speak from different scales,
enveloping the bitterness to soak your eyes
proportional to the depth with which you try to understand me.
The further you cut me, the more layers start to expose
A shallot that lost its spring when its personality leaked,
I can feel your tears as you see me raw,
overanalyse me on a chopping board,
a show and tell, you hold repulse to the smell
You can call me stale, but beyond our veils
we are so much more than our covers suggest,
Such is the conundrum of us, be us human or onions
when you try to fry us shallow, or flavour us up.
Season or sweeten as you will
for I may be easier to swallow then
Merciful is the skin, that covers my sins
protecting your eyes from my ugliness
in order that you might never delve deep enough
to know my contradictions or weaknesses,
to know that I have no right to call you rotten
saving my skin to leave the core forgotten
And I seek refuge from this deteriorating peace in pieces,
as my scars start to scab over what seemed unblemished,
and a fun guy moulds to the fungi he tried to hide,
I am thankful for the mask, but it will take more than preservatives
to elevate me from the pickles I am immersed in.