You do not need to see my skin
or feel my insides,
to get a glimpse of my soul
it contorts beyond this thin net of crystallites.

Contracting constantly,
then broad in other realms.

You might not need to hear me speak
or watch me live,
to taste the waters in which I’ve been sunk.

Combat constantly
not with veiled mirrors but eyes wide shut.

Cassiopeia. And the male flower.
No throne, I will neither drown and blossom.

I am, I am, I am.

The shattered pieces of a humble yearning
never ending.

I am understanding beauty as the manifold of the unspoken.

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