This is a poem for my skin. – a prose poem


This is a poem for my skin

You are the part of me that others see;  the flawed façade that covers what is inside. I manipulate you into what I think you should be but you articulate my hidden stress. I sometimes don’t treat you well: the countless times you’ve blistered in the sun. when I sleep with makeup on, the way I gnaw at my cuticles when I feel withdrawn. But sometimes we take those we love for granted. And I love you, my dear skin. Because imagine what I would be without you? I would be horrifying; bleeding as I walk through the swell of humanity.