It's Called Psoriasis

as if the bruises from my self conscious's grip weren't enough of a reminder of these harsh imperfections,
their icy stares and startling bluntness awaken a such a brutal defense mechanism that can only be absorbed
by those foolish enough to cross over into my unmapped, untouched. 
it is in these forgotten places where I finally feel my lungs expand and my tears dry from knowing that I am 
defined by a flaw or a even handful of them,placed intricately along the paper thin lining that means
absolutely nothing in the end.
but in an instant you wrangle me back into a place where the spots matter and I don't.


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