An exile of his own skin, he dances around himself
like a forgotten memory, webby-silk and opalesque.
Missing at the core he is, out and outwardly leaning,
seeking last letter spaces, the crossword’s final clue,
bluntly obvious solutions, words clearly spelled out,
none save himself a riddle, yet unanswered to mind.
Self-realized men confess, embrace inherited power,
weakness staring truths, scorched in skin worn open.
Banned men envision, only scoff-turned accusations,
toss blocked revelation, obstructing responsible claim
in twisted other-outerness, blaming all not one source
he who self-circles doubt, brandishing blind knife ego
’til none know his name, only echoes like tinnitis ears,
trace stirrings in songs, a residue of teflon-tinged taste
on tongues never spoken, refusal in face of god’s moon.
In the gaze of the other 
Just beautiful
Ah, thank you so much! The multiplicity of people and personalities inspire contemplative writing, some of it pleasing 🙂
You talented writer I just loved it!!
Thank you! I truly appreciate your words. You know yourself as a writer how hard it is to know if you’re coming through–at all.
You are i promise ♡
You beamed through, my friend. Best of luck. xo
Why, thank you. Much appreciate the kind words.
And I, your candid expression. xo