Face me

Face me and look at me.
Look deep into my eyes and see who I really am, who I really can be, the power written in my soul.

Face me and speak to me.
Speak with words so full of wisdom. Throw them at me, if you wish. Test me to see if I cry at the complexities of your speech, if I can withstand basking in your supreme presence all day long without shade, if your soliloquies strike a nerve within.

Face me and listen to me.
Listen with ears that hear the sounds I make, my incoherent mumbles of joy, my sighs of unexplainable pain, my gurgles of unmistakable discourse… Does this irritate you, my constant forming of needs and wants and desires, my selfish want to be heard?

Face me and discover me.
Discover where I am when I am lost. Come find me and see if I cower in the darkness, or if I’m fighting and winning, or loosing and dying when I’m all alone in my cold, frozen, heartless tomb. Come locate the every weakness upon my person, point them out to me, mock them, mock me… Does it please you that I am more imperfect than thee?

Face me and slap me.
Slap me with all of your force. Punch me, kick me and spit in my face. You could stab me or dilute me to piteous sobs to see if I crumble before you and crawl to mask my infantile view… Would it anger you if I refused to cower, if I stood weeping crimson tears, if I chose to defend myself, armed myself with weapons of words that could do you harm?

Face me and clothe me.
Invest in a costume for me to own then undress me and bathe me, feed me and shackle me to a wall nude, my bare frame quivering in the stale, inhuman air. Undo my binds and release me, chase me, hunt me down like prey… Kill me or cure me. Spare me some mercy and nurse the cause you’ve created. Cease your ridicule and return my virtue for I am nothing but a mortal. I am fragile, easily bruised by painful punches from fists made of precious petals, the thorn’d stems slicing into my skin, revealing my aversion to refuse the potent depressant you put upon me each and every single day.

Face me and kiss me.
Kiss my abrasions softly as you hold my hand – your lips, moist against my brittle skin, soothing my urge to scratch my sins away…

Face me and love me.
Forgive my oozing candour…
Because I am who I say I am, I can be no-one else.

Tomos James