Let's get naked,
peel off all the lies
makeup and hair gel,
and wipe the stains of
red and pink shit
off our lips.
We can swap sins
like madams in a
brothel bartering virginity
to see who can sell it fastest.
We'll curl up - eager-
in a tight space
where the whispers
of our confessions are
the only tangible things
weaving a world
out of something
more real than the
glossy, billboard life
we're pretending to live.
Let's strip for real
and have a real life
kind of moment
where I listen as you
crack open the cages
that make you cringe,
the ones you hide
under paint and powder
and when you're done
I'll unlock mine
and show you all the
god-awful, self inflicted
wounds I threw on other
people who were just
me in a different skin.
Then we'll huddle in
this place truth will build,
made safe by each others crimes
and we'll compare notes
on how we traded
"Love Thy Neighbor"
for "Fuck You- Me First"
and gave away "Love Thy Self"
for the discount, knock off
of "Soul For Sale - Cheap"
and how we confused
a high, tight ass
and big, fat bank roll
for the prefect Gods.
How we spent lifetimes
selling sweat and insecurity
like a couple of old whores
strutting around on a sloping stage,
the prancing stagger of our days
lived out on a greasy, imaginary catwalk
going nowhere but down
really,
really
fast...
© 2016, H. Newberry
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