SELF-PORTRAIT
pull back the zipper lips of this cold, marble façade 
and rip open the soul, digging at the chest cavity with wrought iron fingers 
better fit for squeezing the life from my own throat 
than extending to you any form of hope. 

this self-deprecation leaves me gasping, rasping, clasping on 
to a truth i’ve come to believe was only a lie. 
is there really any use in hoping anymore? 

you see, i’ve got fish eggs for eyes 
and mop strings for strands of hair. 
i’ve got yellow teeth like caution tape 
and a haggard beard that my momma says she hates. 
 
i got more dirt under my nails than a trash compactor 
and more black on my soul 
than black-lunged cancer patients waiting in hospices, ready to choke down one last smoke. 

i’m a monster who drinks lust 
and dines on the flesh, 
a hypocrite, a cheapskate, and a fake.
so, with God as my witness, i stand not a man 
but something far more foul and gruesome. 

i am my own judge, jury, and executioner 
i am the skeleton hiding in my closet. 
this here’s the second-hand cigarette smoke that i breathe 
it’s makin’ its home in these discrepant lungs 
while these words burn my throat like gasoline rum. 

and maybe these words are nothing but the stink and filth 
and rot that i espouse—yet, i’ll fill my lungs with shouts
and try and cast aside your doubts. 

it’s been so long since i’ve had a home 
seems like every new place i go 
is fraught with failed expectation. 
and if the journey’s truly the destination 
then, why do i so long for the pace to slow? 

darling, trust me, i am bruising and i am lusting 
but, i swear, in the end i’ll somehow work it out. 

my friends, it might be better if you cover your ears 
submerged beneath the waves of sound and oblivion 
than listen to the syllables that froth on my lips 
the foam licking the beach’s shore, like a kiss. 
i’ve hidden behind ambiguity for God knows how long 
hiding this—flesh—beneath an exoskeleton. 
i am a contradiction, and my walk has become a crawl 
my Bible’s just an ornament hanging in the hall 
and the fragments of my sanity stain my crimson skin. 
but, you’ll smile politely, perfect teeth gleaming 
because you have no idea of the anguish that wrestles in my stomach. 

she says i’m chasing romance, 
tryin’ to fill this hole in my heart with temporal happiness, 
but she’s only right in part. 
yeah, she’s only right in part! 
‘cause, you best believe, i’m lookin’ to be satisfied 
and no amount of niceties can convince me that i’m anything more than worthless! 

my momma said, “actions speak louder than words,” 
so, go ahead, darlin’, say the words you think i need to hear, 
all the while telling me i’m nothing in a way far more sincere. 

they say quit lookin’ to your past 
but it’s so hard when i have no hopes for the future. 
all that’s passed is shame and regrets 
and i’ve become defined (confined!) by my guilt. 

like Simon Peter, i fall at Your feet, 
“Lord, get away from me, i’m so unworthy.” 
God, i’m so unworthy, so inadequate. 

so, how can You tell me that i have value when, 
for so long, 
i’ve found security in my insecurities? 
and, yet, You propose to value the valueless, 
to give worth to the worthless. 

oh, Eternal Optimist, come redefine this legacy of mine. 
‘cause God You say i’m altogether beautiful and i can see that in everyone else, but 
when i look at my reflection i am filled to the brim with bitterness and resentment. 

God, You say i’m beautiful, but i can’t see it! 
i’m blinded by this broken heart, these lines of red that lacerate my soul. 
God, how could You ever love a monster like me? 
i think You’re crazy for loving a wretch like me, 
for i so often give You the finger 
when You lean in close to me. 
how can You love me when i hate me? 
You love me when i hate me 
i hate me 
hate me.


Self-Portrait

Pearson Bolt