at the beginning of the day
i open my closet doors
but instead of sweaters
and jeans
there hangs a row
of different skins,
I pick out who I want to be today.
I have a skin for all types of days
I have my happy skin
(Rarely worn)
That I keep nice and clean
For special days.
Maybe I should take it out more.
My sad skin,
Has holes worn in the knees
And the sleeves
Are splattered with tear stains,
But it is a good fit for a rainy day,
Or a Monday.
My skin for springtime
Is extra freckled,
Filled with memories
Of boys touching my arm
Admiring the constellations
Imprinted on me by the sun.
I usually pick the most common skin,
Not too worn
Not too tight
Just “right” enough to fit in.
I look like everyone else.
But to someone who is paying attention,
I stand out
And
At the end of the day
Exhausted and beaten
I zip off the skin
And hang it back up
In the closet where I found it
And slip into my own skin.
It’s hidden in the corner
Beneath all the others.
Already worn down and cracked,
But it fits my elbows just right.
And I can fall asleep
In my own skin