affection

A rudimentary skeletal structure of my starkly

architected soul is rolled open,

hopeful for the stamp of public approval, but squirming

(worm-like) in rueful memory of mocking tongues.

Young enough as yet to fret the shape,

and drape the contours of newly emergent identity -

plenty of labour lies ahead, doubtless

sprouting its own dread bouts of turmoil.

Germinating somewhere deep inside,

I pride the seed for my vision of its full fruition -

mission accomplished only when the furrowed holes

remould a solid filling, golden gated.

Although my incompletion makes them laugh,

I'm seeing how to build the other half.