ode to a self

what if a prick took away your sixth sense
the one that loves the way a curl falls across the forehead
or the urge to touch your lips or hear your sound when you are pleased

what if a stab removed your appreciation
for the mingling of colours layer upon layer in the sun light
or the desire to comprehend the words between my thoughts left hanging in the air

what if it left a mark between your eye
that made you hate the way i look in the mornings
or the inspiration to arrange chores in a way no one has before

what if it sucked your soul away
leaving emptiness wrapped in pain and sorrow
what if it left you with only endless grueling unable to smile

what if it made you aloof impassive distant and tired
what if then i couldnt teach you reach you with untold desire
we have so much of that already lets not penetrate a thing so dear

what if it kept you from knowing how precious you are
unable to accept admiration because you simply are
what if it blocked gratitude and forgiveness

what if it dissolved your desire to hear my heart beat
what if you didnt want to draw me near you
i would not want to live if that was so