Strip bare for me
And be messy.
Free yourself of
The facade
The filters
The flirty colors
Of the performance of pretty,
Like your humanity is up for the pageant queen prize.
I want to feel the depth of your flesh
and the rooted power in your calloused feet.
The vast array of naked emotions.
The etched heartache in wrinkled eyelids
And the disappointment in your lips.
The lines of ecstasy on your cheeks
And the mountains of smiles in your cells.
Perfectly manicured.
Sculpting emptiness.
For what?
Digital likes.
Virtual kisses.
Swapped out from the rightful position of wild messy giggles and burps and thigh dimples and squishy bellies that nest laughs that echo across state lines.
I love you.
Whole.
Stop coloring yourself in within the lines.
Be messy.
Be messy.
Be messy.
And then gasp with delight at freedom tickling your naked skin releasing you from the confines of pretty proper and prim.
Find pleasure in the growl.
Find pretty in the messy.
Find power in walking off the virtual set of cookie cutter expectations.
You can exhale now.
You can melt your shoulders
You can enjoy the frown underneath the age-old smile that is hurting your insides.
Be messy
Be messy
Be messy.
The Death of Presentational, Performative, and Pretty
