Skin

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