Decorated Reflections

I watch them,
Their smiles, their eyes,
The way the muscles move,
How they are covered,
With that flesh that makes a face,
The smooth surface,
Shades and tones,
We call that race,
I wonder how it is,
That I have none of this,
The meat that hangs on them,
Decorations on fine corpses,
That they might blend in,
Among the living,
Move about without distraction,
Make the party pretty.
Their smiles, their eyes,
The way the muscles move,
Until they’ve worn a groove,
Creating punctuation lines,
Adding definition to their superstition,
I wonder how it is,
That I have none of this,
every kiss then,
Takes a part of me away with it,
On the lips of the deliverer.
Where is my savior?
I wonder.
We spoke once of thick facades,
Built up by time,
By age,
Tanned hides,
Tough with scars,
We spoke once,
Of wearing our main pumps,
On our sleeves,
Exposed too much,
Outside the surface,
Outside the protection of the ribcage,
On our arms,
Bleeding badges,
I realized then,
My sensitivities were somehow more,
Than even that.
And what could be said of it?
This strange pain at every pin?
I looked hard in the mirror,
And saw a woman without skin.

 Teri Skultety, 2007

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