My epidermis craves a caressing
hand or smile. Anything warm or alive.
It grew up fighting to survive in a house
cold as the artic tundra.
No fun where there’s constantly no light
or heat from a secondary party.
Mom slithered away and floated far far far
Dad touched me there. What a terror others tremor.
What ever. My endeavours required me to make no error.
From now on I had to be light as a feather and clever.
A child of granite skin. Unpolished.
And only I painted it with a velvet brush that stuck
I’m soft. Now I lower my eyelids and fight other people’s demons with them.
Mine are glimmers of hope and teach me I can jump.
In a recurrent dream I scream out loud
But that’s what it is – a dream
And I realise I’m more than what happened to me
What the past made of me
I take my cobbled paths quiet seriously
And walk wobble on them quite happily