Skin I choose to live in
Skin I lose when living
Skin we love we feel
Skin we hate we ****
Skin some old some young
Skin some sold some hung
Skin the largest ***** on our body
Skin the largest reason we're divided
Skin a pigment of our imagination
Skin a figment of our imagination
Skin your skin my skin feels the same
Skin my skin your skin tales of shame
Skin in it we mourn we cry
Skin in it we born we die
Skin that shields my soul
Skin that takes control
Skin we must look beyond
Skin just a phenomenon
Skin your skin my skin bruce alike
Skin your skin my skin same at night

Skin.
Skin by definition is a thin layer of tissue forming a natural outer covering of the body.
Skin is for people to tan, to clothe, apply make up to... to touch.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Mosquito bites.
Mosquito bites by definition are the itchy bumps that appear after mosquitoes use their proboscis to puncture your skin and feed on your blood.
Mosquito bites are for people to feel, to itch, to bleed, to scab and repeat. The entire cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Summer.
Summer by definition is the warmest season of the year.
Summer is for t-shirts, shorts, exposure, swimming, tanning, skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
"It's Summer, put on some shorts."
"It's Summer, why aren't you wearing a t-shirt?"
"It's Summer, let's go swimming!"
Summer is a time for these questions, these statements, these words to fester, to breed like muosquitos, to sting like the bite of a bug.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Dermatologist.
A Dermatologist by definition is a doctor that treats diseases, in the widest sense, and some cosmetic problems of the skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
The Dermatologist tells me to use this and to use that. Lotions and potions, as my mother would say. Slather, rub, treat, swallow.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Skin care.
Skin care by definition is the range of practices that support skin integrity, enhance its appearance and relieve skin conditions.
Get up, shower, sterilizing soap, body oil, steroid cream, medicated lotion, drink water and repeat the process before bed. My daily cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Seesaw.
A Seesaw by definition is to change rapidly and repeatedly from one position, situation, or condition to another and back again.
Seesaw, to push off the ground, into the air with a sense of victory and joy, only to fall hard to the ground with stinging ankles and sore calf's.
This isn't a playground anymore.
The Dermatologist says that if I don't get better, they'll have to put me on the pill.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

The Pill.
The Pill is an oral treatment for my condition. My eczema.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water.
The risk associated with the pill- Osteoporosis,  Muscle weakness, Mood and Behavioral changes, Increase in chance of developing cataracts,  Stomach Ulcers and Liver Failure.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water. The daily cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab.... **** it.

I would rather my liver fail and my bones go brittle then to be stared at on the street!
"What is that?"
"Are you okay?"
"What's wrong with her?"
"Is it contagious?"
"Don't touch me!"
I itch, my nails dragging over my scarred skin and pulling at wounds. I bleed, the welts that crack and leak drops from the red river that flows silently beneath my skin. I scab, leaving horrible lumps of ugly, hardened flesh to coat the once smooth area. I repeat....

Well, I don't want to repeat! I want to be able wear the clothes I want, to walk the streets with out the judging and questioning eyes of the passersby on me, to be held and touched by a significant other without the fear that their fingers will fall upon my skin and recoil in disgust!

Without looking in the mirror and wondering when I can finally begin to love myself.

I decided that today is the day! No more Itching! No more Bleeding! No more Scabs! It's time to break this ******* cycle.

I go to a school where
because of my skin color I’m trouble
because of my skin color I’m a minority
because of my skin color I’m a victim of “subtle” racism
because of my skin color ... I’m treated differently
I live in a society where
because of my skin color I'm paid less
because of my skin color I need to be more careful
because of my skin color … I’m a “****”
I live in a country where
because of my skin color I'm rude
because of my skin color I'm inferior
because of my skin color ugly
because of my skin color … Im not human
I live in a world where
because of my skin color my people were “animals”
because of my skin color my people were take and enslaved
because of my skin color my people stripped of their rights
because of my skin color my people .... weren’t even considered people
deny all you want it’s okay I know it’s all true it’s
because of my skin color...

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Techniques for Healing Many individuals are ) Normally skin are usually simple in addition to protected not to include as well as doesn't will need treatment plans ) Sporting a good sunscreen lotion as well as minimizing also stops numerous a lot of us A few) Get rid of removal. On this solution, a family doctor numbs the vicinity about an important epidermis after which it operates on the all smaller sharp edge so that you can shave off that skin color mole all around skin. A number of) Put biopsy. Health care provider may take off a new pores and skin having a smaller incision or maybe deal biopsy procedure, using a compact cookie-cutter-like apparatus. Your five) Excisional surgical treatments. skin color mole together with a surrounding perimeter in nourishing body are actually restrict surgically
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naked skin,
sun-baked brown and sunkissed freckles, and ***** white, an olive from overseas.
we traipsed down the road, the never-ending black of concrete.
we yelled. we screamed like there were marching bands in the cages
of our ribs.
we drew in smoke and our instruments played the music
of lit tobacco
“you're a hurricane”
one of the best things ive ever been called

cut skin,
as blackberries slapped our legs,
leaving marks of red and purple,
as we ran through secret forests,
our laughs rising into the sunshine,
filtering through the leaves,
like chiming bells in an empty sky
we started a fire, dancing as earthy smoke
slithered on our skin.
we lit cigarettes in the flames.

icy skin,
as we stumbled,
springs bubbling inside us,
down the brown, mud painted hills,
and cried in wonder as we saw a treasure in the thicket of trees;
a frozen lake staring us straight in the eyes like an
antarctic cyclopes,
daring us to take a step closer.
first, tentative,
then we went rawly, crashing through the undergrowth
like small houses,
headfirst onto the ice,
with all our skin for its one eye to see,
our clothes in a mountain,
and our vulnerable bodies free
on the cold surface of a
secret winter in the middle of a
sun coated town.

warm skin,
as we raced down asphalt mountains,
like goosebumps on the skin of the earth.
we ran like tigers and cougars and cats and
lions,
roaring in the afternoon sun
as we embraced the completion,
of a four piece puzzle of our
youth.
warm,
as throat burning brandy from the womb of my couch,
and burning pain
as we poked holes into our skins,
red tattoos of a flamelike
trilogy.

red skin,
as blood dripped down through the
cracks of the Balcony,
as we painted the walls with it,
laughing squeezed between every
long drag of our cigarettes,
burning like two new stars in the
oncoming night,
tattoos and shapes appearing on our skin
faster than bruises
showing a young girl the ways of our corruption was almost as
fun as learning them
ourselves.

goosebump skin,
as we sank into reality again,
halfway in,
other half still shaking
hearts beating fast
i trembled
as i screamed across at a cat eyed girl
i was too shaking to fight like this,
and you are too lovely to cry like that,
and my dear sunshine,
your blue hair is almost as soft
as your voice floating in the
after dusk darkness
assuring that things would be
alright.

tired skin, as we lay on my sheets,
and kissed one anothers soft cheeks,
tired skin as we dragged our drugged up
skin
all the way home,
in a careless sack.

yes,
maybe “three ****** up girls”
one tall, soft words,
one kneeling on the pavement,
one shaking like an
earthquake,
but thats what makes it like
dawn,
beautiful.

wouldnt you rather be a tornado of impulsive decisions
raw twilight words
whiskey ridden breath like summer
air
sunset tears
and icy skin painted with shivers?

alive skin.

I am Private and he is mine.
  I see him follow in the feet of the other men  
  when his white eyes are turned so is his face  
  he sits in an aisle behind a glass too straight  
  I call to him but the glass is too thick  
  I am he and he is I so how can the separation be stopped  
  my heart is pattering and he sees it  
  a small bird wakes in the nest  
  eyes open  
  the cold salt  

It is all over yet only to those who remember  
  there is always the now if the then was kept forgotten  
  the then is me and he is the now  
  the others stand around us with long hair
  one has white eyes and skin too cool  
  he is dead and standing
most stand in lines straight on forever  
  some turn around in small shuffles  
  some glance over one shoulder slowly  
  those most eat and drink and eat and drink and eat and drink  
  there is nothing to eat no space to turn and no features to see  
  we look and move and eat to go  
  the one with the white eyes and the skin too cool knows but cannot die fully  
  he first scared me and now he is here
we are here and there  
  he and I  
  the one with the skin too cool too  
  the small bird cries out on the edge of the nest as the wind whips around  
  it cannot fall so alone  
  we cannot see it fall  
  there is no space and nothing to eat  
  the white eyes drift away with no movement  
  they seem to be searching

We sit now  
  although surrounded there is no one around  
  the glass is too thick 
  I can hear the thoughts of the others and he can hear their actions
  the walls seem to go on forever
  forever blocking the light
  his light
  the whites of his eyes signaling recognition and reflection  
  the light allows his sight to see me through the glass  
  he is mine  
  he is not dead  
  I am he  
  the cold salt  
  the pattering heart holds me still and devours me
  I am not dead  
  take that heart away from me so I do not wrench it from you  
  the others look on and see nothing for there is nothing  
  it is only in my pattering heart  
  the bird sees something on the ground in the shape of a open heart  
  the bird falls to the other  
  the cold salt

Before I felt him  
  I tried to save him but the glass was too thick  
  the aisle was too crowded before and now it is too  
  everyone dressed in their best black but wearing nothing of meaning  
  they are the same the others  
  I patter at the one sided glass  
  he cannot hear me  
  the darkness of the shadow hides me from him  
  the shadow of the cross deafens him to the birds song  
  I am he and I cannot hear me  
  I pray for the book under the aisle to be true  
  I pray he will see me soon  
  I pray my prayers are needless  
  he wants his pattering heart  
  I want the cold salt on the cheeks of the best black dressed    
  the bird has no cold salt left    
  the fall took them away  
  the heart shaped ground stopped the cold salt forever
before the men and the women were together and now they are the same  
  the one man with the white eyes moves closer  
  I like his skin too cool  
  the buildings mixed and separated them  
  together was complicated  
  together and alone was complex  
  he is large  
  yet there is space for me  
  when he is I cannot be touched  
  no one knows he is dead and I am alive  
  they do not remember  
  that small bird feels another    
  the cold salt and skin too cool

I am still alone but with him alive  
  here is where I can see him  
  this place too small is where I wait  
  I saw him in the rain and fell to him  
  the bird fell to the pattering heart  
  he is still down there  
  his skin too cool and his eyes too white  
  I want those eyes  
  they smile up at me through the lighted glass even  
  the skin too cool reaches me and I am fed  
  there is no food but his skin  
  there is no sight but his eyes  
  he is the smile   
 I am the happiness  
  I am him  
  the bird smiled on the way to the heart shaped ground  
  it hit the ground and the cold salt stopped  
  the cold salt
the ground hits
  the pattering of my heart beats all the louder against his one sided glass  
  now illuminated
  the light warms his heart and cold salt 
  it patters in time with the rain   harder and harder like the ground the bird hits 
  over and over until his patters with mine 
  he is me
  he is mine 
  his cold salt 
  I miss those 
  I lose them to rain down on him and he feels their sound 
  he is not the smile now 
  I feel his heart pattering 
  mine patters the hardest against his glass too thick and too straight now lit 
  in this room too small surrounded by the others but without him I am alone 
 I am his happiness 
  I want his skin too cool and eyes too white 
  I am his smile 
  the cold salt and the skin and the eyes and the smile are me
he was lost to me one too many times
  my not dead man was kept hidden behind a glass too thick and too straight 
  I cannot see what is hidden even though I am hiding 
  the others sway now   there is no room in here to move 
  the ground is gone 
  the small bird sings 
  he is mine 
  he looked up when I first pattered on the glass 
  he saw nothing 
  he was not going to then without the light 
  now the cold salt illuminates the pattering heart 
  his cold salt
  
I am sitting at the top of a building in the rain 
  the rain falls just as the bird and my heart 
  the ground fast approaches 
  a glass too straight through which I see him 
  he is alone in his room 
  the one with the skin too cool 
  his heart now pattering through his wrists 
  it falls and patters like mine did and does for him here 
  I want my skin too cool
the best dressed do not want to really see him 
  they do not want to see me 
  so they remember 
  I am in a room too small wanting his skin too cool
the others with the long hair carry ropes in their hands or a gun or a bottle 
  we are all in a room together but cannot fit 
  there is no room 
  there is no light 
  the aisle is now empty and the glass is still too thick 
  I am he 
  I walk 
  the cold salt drops 
  I am not dead until we are all dead 
  he is dead the room was too small and could fit no one 
  the small bird loved his skin too cool 
  the man sees the small bird jump for him 
  I am the bird 
  I am the man 
  he is me 
  he is mine 
  I have his skin too cool and now pattering heart  I am here 
  the cold salt falls now with his smile and my happiness



Private, he my friend.
He mine.
See.
  He come back to me even now.
  I don’t have to tell him anything, he knows.
  They all looked at me, but to him I say nothing, nothing needs to be said.
  He reached safety and came back for me.
  His love penetrated, and now mine patters even more.
  I cried cold tears when I saw him fall.
They never left my cheeks and he dried them.
  I see him in my room and play with him like all friends.
  The church glass was the last place I saw him.
  Wet with rain from my tears he was a bird, broken and small.
  Sundays were hard for him and me.
  I had love for him in the pattering of my heart.
  I tell him that over and over now, and he understands.
  He my friend.
  The one I only have tears for anymore, even after the rainy day took them from me;
  after his body reminded me of the small bird on the ground under the nests.
  He did not come back to the school or to his home, but to me.
  I am his pattering heart, only fully opened now.
  I don’t have to explain that the men and priest made me into this.
  They took my love and warred against it.
  They told me to feel this and not that.
  Love was red and boys were blue.
  Now I know why the stained glass which separated me and him was all colors.
  Now I’ll be on the lookout.
  I tell Private what a new winter this shall be, another one to warm my cool skin.
  We’ll be warm together, Private.
  Private.
  I don’t remember the verses of the Lord.
  The black book under the pews, those hated aisles, have no rememory to me.
  All is he, and he is mine.
  We would be one again, you tell me in my room late at night.
  Private came back to me by falling, like the baby birds on the farm under the nests too high.
  You warm my skin and catch my tears.
  You got close and I am now.
  When you fell I wanted to lay with you and now I can.
  My pattering heart and its contents now flow freely from the arms longing to hold you again.
  I am close. 
  I should have been close then.
  I wanted to.
  Nowhere I had lain in peace since the rain and the fall.
  Now I can lie like the birds and their young.
  He come back to me, Private, my friend, and he is mine.