Piercing the skin
would be tough,
from the late night,
crying sessions,
where tears
transferred into bloody
stains on many faces.
The armor isn\'t something one can just buy
one have ti be built for it,
to fight all day,
and nights
demand for the rights
through dreams,
it doesn\'t just happen
during sleep.
But takes form as an act to be a part of
society.
But then one has to remember that society
hasn\'t
given a damn about them,
casting them aside.
Opportunities passing one by.
Passing, pushing, and twisting
further and further down the rabbit hole.
And they hurt them, like a slave stepping foot off the boat.
With skin as tough as that there is more,
not only is it tough,
my skin has a heart,
right on top of my sleeves.
The scars I present pierce deeper than it shows,
deeper than my memories that are
ecoded with nightmares,
printed on my back that shows the lashes of the
mistakes I made,
my forehead full of the burns from the cigarettes pressed against my head
and my heart with nothing but shallows memories,
that once tried to bleed
red, white, gold, and navy blue.
As those memories take shape and
form through my life, now I have a much thicker
skin because of them.
But that\'s just the one of the softer layer compared
to the other memories, as I remember
them,
I was used as a toy
for others amusement,
being soap up,
having the youth,
innocent, white light, and fresh
life taken from me by someone
who was supposed to be a parent,
my whole being,
transformed into a simple
cocoon, where the skin tries to become untouchable.
However,
there are sometimes
where flexible moments where my story comes
out.
You\'re probably thinking this poem has some significant
about skin in general,
or how it is a part of some bigger, that is important,
or some higher human anatomy,
for out of this world, but simply
this is my life,
my skin,
my being,
my vulnerability,
my story.
As you look at me see the complexity
of who I am.
I am more than a black, gay or weird person.
Look at me than a stereotype.
XOXO Jimmie