i’ve got holes, say they.
big gapping holes, all over my personage.
not dainty little pinholes.
more like shreds of ripped rotting flesh.
although i adjust said holes,
spreading them out so they look like lace,
they don’t hold any warmth or induce comfort
as the wind howls through them
i feel nothing but a cool breeze.
as the torrential rains pound down,
i feel nothing but a light refreshing shower.
once a man tried to gather up the lengths
he mistakenly took for tatters.
he tried to point out the torn
& the worn.
once that man tried to pull the holes together
& became disillusioned & confused
wondering why this wearer of holes
was trying to dance in the rain with it on.
he saw damage.
she was trying to see a leather jacket.
he saw ugly.
she was trying to see beauty.
these holes. they don’t hold anything in.
everything slips through them.
as unsightly as they may seem,
they serve a purpose.
& when she is done
they’ll wrap her cold body.
they’ll enshroud her corpse
& love her all the way back to the earth.