The skin I live in

Is more than the color it shows
It’s the scars and blows
I’ve covered it with

The skin I live in
Endured more than I anticipated
The self-hate, the constant loathing
The necessity to be other than what I am

The skin I live in
Knows no boundaries when it comes to demolishing
All that I am against all that I should become
It knows not of the four seasons
When it’s covered from the judgments
Of friends and foes all year

It sweats more than it should
But perfectly blends with that of the eyes

When was the last time?
You and me were one and the same?

(c) F. BaliĀ 

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