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