Rarely Do I Think of Myself (Soul of Me)

Rarely
Do I think of myself
As anything more than dirt
Do I view my reflection
As anything but a monstrosity
Rarely
But there are times
When my shield is lowered
Just enough to see
Past my rusty armor
The soul of me
Working ever so diligently
Like a machine
Processing undeserved pain
Into clean flowing waters
Upon which their narrow boats can glide
My eyes dark and sunken
Serve as the water's dam
Holding back what could be
Their very own destruction
Rarely
Do I see myself
As beautiful
But in those very brief moments
I see with clarity
The many factors
Both good and bad
That form this soul of me
And while it is far from perfect
It has somehow become efficient
A beautifully imperfect machine
Is the soul of me