My soul is in my face,
My ideas in my gut,
My impulse in my heart.
Its corrugated valleys,
And untamed wilds.
What drugged habits it hides.
I don’t wish for more,
As I mock imperfection,
As I self-exorcise.
Draped with expression,
And backward health.
This is my body.
Boiling inside,
Tinged by lust,
Incorruptible but aging,
Hurting but happy.
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