I do not remember the day
I vowed to myself
that I would never be seen.
Was I being kicked by the boys
on the long walk home?
Or caught cheating in math class?
Or lying beneath a man I did
not love? I don’t know where
or when, but there was a day
I chose to wear a skin
inside my skin, something akin
to gloves, so that in every moment,
I could control how I was touched.
For years, I wondered why no one knew me.
And I wondered why I felt so alone.
Oh little girl, oh woman now, oh
years of covering up. Oh loneliness
and secrecy I chose instead of love—
I see me and do not judge myself.
I see me as I am. But there is
this second deadened skin
that’s ready to be shed. And here
is the chill of the late spring snow
as it seeps now through to the bones.
And the cold feels good because I feel it.
And I do not want to hide.
And there is this new way of touching
with my tenderest lips, my most sensitive skin,
inhaling musk, so familiar,
so singular. There is this inviting love in.