ripple like darkened rainbows, roll
along moonlit breath, glow in shades
of shadowing gray. The sparkle
is mesmerizing, I cannot blink
away the steady rhythm of inching tide
as it slowly devours the pallid gold
of sleeping sand.
It makes sense
you would want me
to. I am that which you cannot
punish. My skin – mental and
physical – is fashionably calloused.
Your razors are irrelevant, and do not scare
me. I am already scarred.
Your hands grow knives,
scissors, try again
to carve me (into something less
desirable?). Each shatters in turn
to my shrug. My laughter haunts
echoes force you to cower, cover
your ears to the truth I live by:
if it is not broken, it is not
breakable . .