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.
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.
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.
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?
Has stretched and rolled over the years.
It stores so much of me. So much more of me.
I feel strange. I never saw these scars before.
I only saw them through what others said.
Now I feel silly. Ashamed I never saw what they saw.
Was new, was soft, was pretty.
Now it bears the examples of this world.
Food that was savored.
Sun that took my paleness captive.
Calluses that formed to keep me safe.
Flaws that I never saw.
It has kept me safe.
It has provided comfort.
It makes me feel free.
It will forever shine after it is long gone.
For it is My Skin.