Flaunting its extravagant colors like a peacock who’s tail is its weapon,
Flinging the many layers of its overly complex, self imagined body.
All for indications,
Some for humor,
Empathy; Love even.
For all may writhe in amazement of what you show as yourself
Some might shudder,
Some may hate and covet what you've made
And occasionally even you could get caught up in the beauty you parade to others,
Maybe even lose yourself in it.
But whats under the exterior only few have seen,
The damaged,
The Wounded,
The hardened by age,
The things these coverings are meant for,
trophies of life of which i would rather not display.
All repairable even if not broken,
But just in case.
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