Skin

I sit on a rock
Waiting for
My skin to dry.
The droplets run
Down my back
Along my thighs.

I sit on a rock
Watching the tide
Creep slowly up
I’m trying not to hide.

My skin is puckered
Like raw chicken flesh
With lines and spots

How could I pretend
To be something I’m not?

Flesh, meat and bones
This is my home.
But my body has me
So it’s never alone.

Published by

Saule

Lithuanian American based outside Barcelona studying Musical Theatre. I love poetry, travel, singing, dancing and acting and many other random things. Follow my messiness trying to make sense of all this nonsense.

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