A patchwork of her past
Where pain and joy overlap
In stretch marks and stupid scars
In laugh lines, and inked art

Every sun-kissed spot
And Marilyn Monroe dot
Speak of habits and genetics
Of insecurities or aesthetics

So ask her for the stories
Some funny, some boring
From "I slipped and split my chin"
To "that dare I had to win"

And for others, she flinches
Stories measured in miles not inches
Scars that trace back to the heart or mind
That maybe she'll tell you another time

We may wish some tales weren't written
But nothing's real without dimension
So for all the obvious or obscure we can see
Maybe we should rethink the term "skin deep"