My Skin

Beautifully written, I identify with this poem.

Life As I Know It

This Skin,

It’s soft, fresh and new.

Left untouched to this new world’s stresses.

Fragile, in need of constant care.

Only my mother knows this skin.

This Skin,

It stretches as I grow.

It ages as the years pass.

Still I pay no mind to it.

I run and I feel the air brush against every inch.

I fall; now I see the colors spring to life.

I begin to create lines in it with my smile.

This Skin,

It changes color.

The sun’s glow transfers onto me.

The darkness takes the glow away.

It’s fun how chameleon-like my skin is.

This Skin,

Has begun to bear scars.

Not from my falls, but faults of others.

None that anyone can see.

But scars I can see, every time I look in a mirror.

How can people see these scars too?

This Skin,

Has stretched and rolled over the years.

It…

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