The Owl

I stare in the mirror. Waxy skin, So vulnerable and fake. How I wish I could just tear it off, Sink my fingers into the spongy flesh And rip it apart. I wish this. So I could open up my chest, Like an old grandfather clock, And fix myself, All that hate and detest Just corrected. I am but a flaw A fault in the grand scheme People tell me that I am fine, That there is nothing wrong. But I know. I live with the failings. I feel the consequences. I can’t help but hate me, And all these superficial sounds. But I love them, My rocks and walls. They build me up high Like a Brunel structure So tall and grandiose. So is it me that is so frightened? Why do I hate, when I love you? Unclear like an old print, Will you not clear for me? So I can love life to?