Beneath My Skin

My skin is poor armor

Too pliant to defend

It bruises and it opens

All too willing to bend

But if it were more rigid

Would I be more protected?

Or would I sit unmoving

Too perfectly collected.

What doesn't bend will break

What breaks cannot be fixed

What fragile things we are

So inexpertly mixed.

But just below the surface

Of this poorly thought out case

All the things that make me

Contained inside this fragile space.

My blood, it courses through me

A river which ebbs and flows

A brain which gives me thoughts

And holds onto all it knows.

My lungs inflate and deflate

In rhythm with my needs

My womb, a tended garden

Shedding as it needs.

My stomach soft and warm

It's contents rich and full

My bones tough and worthy

Answering my pull.

My muscles ever growing

By being ripped apart

Each cell that divides and binds

Doing their intrinsic part.

All of of this galactic magic

Wrapped in threadbare leather

Yet when it is wounded

It knits itself together.

I know that we are more,

Than skin, and brains, and hearts,

We will always be much more,

Than simply the sum of our parts.