I am made of ruin and wrath.
I hide behind a hardened mask,
to protect the fragility beneath.
Though I am carved of stone,
I will crumble to dust at the softest touch.
Will you love me, with my brokenness?
Will you kiss the creases from my forehead,
and calm the fierce beating within my chest?
Will you caress my tender flesh,
and cool the fever that rages within my soul?
You are the cure for my disease.
My scars will know the touch of your fingertips,
My tears will know the taste of your lips.
My cheek will know the contours of your palm,
My neck will know the murmurs of your love.
I am made of new skin.
I tentatively remove my mask,
and expose the real girl beneath.
My stone facade has crumbled away,
and my face finally knows the sunshine.