The reversal.

Everyone wants to say what I am
bolts and screws holding together
bits of flesh and glue
stretched over squirming things
and veins and lungs
my own little park living in my chest
and growing and creeping
past my bounds, where my skin hugs it in
so persistent it starts to poke
through my eyes and through my nose
pores leaking bits of blood and hope
until I'm a bloated mess of things and thoughts
the pieces people have thrown away
and couldn't get enough of.

Now, I'm outside in
and inside out
here with my insides
ugly and purple and wet
 perfect and content
existing in wholeness
with the pieces you've never seen
and the parts my heart can't help but beat.