what you will find.

Please take the skin off my body, it doesn't need to be there. Pull and cut and burn and then, be happy for me to be raw and bleeding. Pull off each finger, short and not slim, chewed already to the cuticle, to the bone, to the marrow and then, be happy for me, I cannot call out. Pull fire to my elbows, smell the burning flesh and then, be happy for me to lose the receptors, though of course they were never created in me at all. Pull a rusty nail to my ankle and dig, scar, tear open the scars, repeat and then, be happy for me I was of course not perfect as you say. Pull a crowbar on my rib cage and open me up, let my organs flow out, bright red, grey, warm, alive and then, be happy for me, the blood in my eyes and mind keeps me warm.

I say that you can have these things because they are just things to me, everyone knows that. You know that. You will give them to you today tomorrow and yesterday. You pick up my heart, and it isn't the same as anything you've beheld before. Your smile fades and confusion sets in. You compare it with the parts of hearts you keep in your pocket. It isn't the same as those beautiful fractions you've taken from others, no. My heart is different. I am different. Compare it to your own, if you like. I know you want them to be the same, and we both know they can't be. My heart has the color of coals burning at the Pit of the deepest end, of eyes at midnight in a quiet alley. In your hands it feels icy and sharp, like a diamond of the sky. Cry out in disgust, burn me for it's obscenity, and for my part in making it that way. You've taken my skin, my fingers, my elbows and ankles, and then, the organs from my chest. But you can't take a piece of my heart. And sometimes I wish you could. Please be happy for me, though I know it will be hard. If you need to be angry, I understand that too well, better.