We see our skin everyday.
the flesh gripping tightly on our bones and protecting us from the world outside
as we shake a hand,
dry our eyes,
or contemplate in the mirror upon if I can fit in and erase my thighs,
I decide on what to do to myself
for clearer skies
yet I know I will not reach perfection.
We see other's skin everyday.
as we meet a stranger's gaze,
brush by an arm,
glace at a face,
that you notice is covered in bruises from the night before
when her husband came home drunk and she told him she was going out
when he grabbed her
and hit her,
and hit her,
and hit her
until she couldn't move.
And he wandered off to find more beer as she staggered up the stairs
to cry her lonesome self to sleep.
is only the outisde layer of a book
that can show you somethings but hide others away,
and it is the canvas of our soul
that proves how we have lived.
We have lived through this time where the world decides to judge you
for something you cannot conrol,
something everyone has that is normal
that is okay,
because it must be okay.
It's filled with contellations in galaxies of universes
filled with scars and birthmakes and dimples and wrinkles,
and in these constellations there are things that only we can make out,
pointing to one spot or another
connecting us directly back to that moment when
I was three.
And on that day I fell out of a tree
and up my ear plunged a stick.
Yes, that stick broke the surface of my skin
but I will never let it touch me,
it can never dig deep enough
through my layers of skin to touch me,
just as I see everyone's eyes do
as I walk down the street,
but they will never break through what is me,
what is rightfully me,
And my dear thank you,
she said to me as I pulled open the door that was once ajar
for the feeble old woman who rolled her walker into the grocery store.
And as she did so I saw her face
her old and wrinkled and beautiful face
that had lived many years more than I.
Her skin loose as if it were to fall of in an instant
but she smiled,
and at that moment I could tell
she allowed her body to change
but never did she let anyone get through her skin
to change the mind that was hers,
it was rightfully hers to keep,
and cherish through rough times,
yet her skin.
Filled with pages of age mark connect the dots
would always be on display.
And yours is
and will still be