BLT

I represent a BLT, And,

This is why you don’t

Let your words pour out

Spill out, leak out even if ever only so slightly-

Even if only a glimpse is to be shown

Because even at the level of ever so slightly they can be captured,

Seen into, experienced and treasured.

And if that to be the right person?

I do not know.

This is why you keep them close

Locked away and with barely a look in,

Your feelings, your words, your thoughts.

Layers and layers

Locked away as if it were a blt sandwhich.

Because what man doesn’t love Bacon?

Keeping it ever so precious as you feel if you didn’t

The lettuce would crinkle and the tomato gone dry

And that is when you take one bite and come to decide

Enough is enough and you simply put it aside.

This is why when you grasp, hold and admire me – I don’t want you to see.

The bits that will crinkle and the parts gone dry

Because once you are trapped you’ll have nowhere to hide

You’ll get bored and simply put my parts aside.

Because you despise the lettuce.

And emotions and feelings they all come with a cost

That by opening what all is yours

Is as a risky as a sandwich in a lunchbox?

Stereotypically this is what you may want

Not the crinkle in my elbow or the dryness down my spine

But the serving of a sandwich made with hands which are mine

This poor sandwich is a representation of what I believe,

Because looking up close are my feelings you’ll never see.

The crust is hard nut,

 just  like inside of my bones,

When everything is aching yet I strive and venture to carry on

Going deeper with in the bread gets softer

And this is my skin

Hiding what is I

 This will seem scary

We know carbs can be!

Yet its actually filled with delight and surprise with what the world refuses to see

And going in with the bacon you love but are supposed to hate

You knows good yet bad and you can’t keep away

Is my hands and the weak spot behind my fragile ear

You can’t help but go near

The tomato like blood rushing through my veins

Pumping and rushing

Spluttering just

To prove I’m alive.

To prove I’m okay.

Yet the lettuce is boring, yet some may say,

This represents my body which I’ve grown to hate

Yet you love the lettuce

And I’m glad you do.

It’s your favourite part

With its crinkle and its curves and its edges that burn

Because despite the greatness of the skin and the beauty

Without the lettuce it simply wouldn’t be blt.

Without the ins and the outs

The ups and the downs

The wrongs and the rights

Greatness and frights

My body wouldn’t be me.

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