Lightning Bug Cosmos

I lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to the
                    lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.

In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of
                                    veins, arteries and nerves.

Sometimes it all flows correctly; sometimes everything becomes
     knotted up in all the wrong places.  Skin toughened by beatings brought about by the
                             harsh world
around me. Yet it is the same skin that is softened by the warm touch of friendship and family.

An under-achieving mind, wandering and corroding in my daydreams of true love, the pursuit of happiness, and hopeless wishes to save the waking world.
An overworked heart, squeezing out far too many bloodied tears; it has been
                             patched up and reworked more than any first-time quilt makers' handiwork.
An erratic soul, constantly withering and being brought back to life at the mercy of lies and truth.

It's sad when your world is nothing but fabric & when you open your eyes you're just lost in the sent-spinning moon. I'll
                          close them
                                                          for a while until the particles align and the air doesn't feel so false. I hear honesty from bones and fingernails and the hairs on my arms, I hear truth in newborn babies that bubble staccatos and legatos,
                      And so I hope that we were not made for deceit.

                                                                                 And for once I'm starting to trust myself.

We live in a cosmos where it can never be about only you and me or just you or just me:

     This erratic, chaotic, anaerobic, revolving oblate spheroid is home to even more
                                                         sand-spec existences
                                      than we could ever care to know about.

I'll live with nimbus sparse between my toes, ballads of being resonating through
                                        my ribs, and hope
                                                      grounded in the crowns of my teeth.