Patchwork of a Master

I’m taking control of this physical presence of mine, this breaking ship; pulling it down forcefully to the bottom of this god forsaken sea, allowing it to be destroyed by nature once and for all. I’m restoring it, piece by piece. All the times it has shattered and I have reconstructed, it has bled and I have patched it up; screamed; sometimes tormented, other times crumbled as if it was haunted; and I have silenced it with lullabies of hope. Armored it with plating hope. Oceans could rage and waves overthrow the decks; I pulled it through anyhow as if nothing was tougher. Something was, and it would rupture from the inside as a form of subaqueous mutiny to my own life. A subliminal act of courage, nonetheless. My Purpose. My Core of Existence. My Essence. My Being being larger than this. Preponderant to the weight of my memories, experiences and regrets. It’s been perdurable in a much lesser cage than seemingly suitable. Hidden away as a result of a laceration far greater than anyone knows. It was made ugly with fantastic pieces; not by design but by violence. Now, each piece will be put together as originally as they came; as oddly shaped as they are, knowing everything there is to know about disquietude, despair and paroxysm. Emotions weighing as bilge water while hope and dreams function as void tanks; never sinking this ship again. I’m making this fit for an unwavering journey of amelioration. Awake. This body, right here, with octagon patches, others in diamond shapes or pointed hexagon silhouettes; once thought of as a beautiful kaleidoscopic evidence of a historical life time, when it was the patchwork of sequestration. Now put together tempered in all it’s nakedness; fortified with love; incorruptible through cleansing; coated by nothing more than itself. No longer “suitable” for the cursorily, the arrogant, the careless and the covetous; who are all missing the depth, loyalty and survival skills of this patched up entity. I’m fine with that – move along. Please. I want it admired by someone who can apprehend the history see beauty instead of patches, dedicate to keep it safe while it’s out there on open waters, be present in the moments of its restored worth, and treasure it for all that it is; Lovingly patched together in awareness. Not beautiful perhaps, but asymmetrical and radiant, a similar figurine of prismatic segments as any other, yet like no other.