I live with my skin turned
inside out,
burning and chafing on life,
my ink, decoration
for my insides
living on the outside.
Our pores hold water,
and bear light of sun,
vitamins of life, but
people don't admit their own
nudity
(as if their clothes are hiding
their faces).
Our skin breathes,
and sometimes we
let it breathe
someone else's breath...aaaarrrgh!
and we are smothered
the salve:
breathe
God
ps...This is a mix of words from old journals, and new thoughts/words...pieced together. I'm working on a series of body part poems, so this will go with them.
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