penetrate the superficial, first blood of realities

Masks see-through, armor penetrable.
We can go on pretending and hiding as though we stage ourselves like actors in a play. You and me this dance of we tip-toeing realities, juxtapose identities, revealing, and withdrawing. We are the few they want to gag and beat and mold as their own. We are the few quiet and tall. We are the few with the heart on the sleeve and complete on our knees. We are the few that love hard and deep with dead-eyed stares. We are the few with too many words, not enough hush. We are the few not tethered to the body of shame. We are the few that live naked and free. We are the few.
They call us bitches and whores and liars and schemers. Funny how puppetry creates victim. The tales behind my back have yet to meet my face. How cheap to talk of others instead of conversing the mirror. How easy it is to judge and pluck at the price others. You make it look easy. In your ease, you’ve hardened. Somewhere. Somehow. Afraid to love. Afraid to touch. Afraid to reveal. Afraid to be seen. I’ll not speak a word and take up battle. You keep your defenses as I strip mine down.
I do not collect praise or hold criticism. I do not seek what you say of me. I do not take aim. Fierce is my love, I’ll not cross or lessen myself in the comfort of your fear.
I am here to connect, not here to collect. Collections, so needy, you owe. Collections you tally to mask you as so. Collections a protection of armory. Collections never-ending.
The see-through mask, the penetrable armor. You have no choice but be seen. Among the few, among the many. These are the sharpened truths from my wet tongue. Penetrate the superficial, it’s the first blood of realities. It’s the dance, this dance of we. You and me.

stephynow