insecurity,

lost on my woman outline -
none but bitter bones and
fragments of lost poems.

every face i sew to
tie to my worth, as my own home
feels abandoned.

if i could be covered in marigold,
to paste on october's sky, never-ending
month of transformation
death
and rebirth.

i wait until i grow as sharp as nails,
sleek as love.

with fever - this heat on the fingers
of insecurity, rising heavenly with every breath.
i watch the eyes slither
down -
run tricks to use.

only this brain throbbing
its glory,
kiss this dome! i
screech loudly.