Tag: Skin

Posted on

My Walls

The walls surround me while I lay in wake. Often confining and shrinking in, crushing me. At the same time, I watch them close in and remain frozen in this room, too afraid to escape. The walls concave, trapping me; I’m separated from everyone on the outside.

These walls trap me away from you. You stand outside my glass box, watching me, with your hand to the glass. Letting me know you’re there. And every time I manage to find my way to you, the walls stop closing in. You’ve always helped push those walls away. You’ve always helped me find my way and escape that room, even giving me the strength at times to leave by myself.

Even today, those walls are still there, and sometimes I trap myself in that same room, but now there is a difference. I know I can leave. And I can do it on my own.

Posted on

A Moment

There are those moments where I lay in silence, waiting for the world to stop. I sit and wait for that moment of quiet, but it never comes. People never stop moving; they never stop going. I often feel like I’m watching them while standing in the street, itching to be heard. To be seen.

I watch as the people zoom past, scrambling to reach their new destination. All while I feel confused and disoriented. Everyone always appears to know where they’re going and how they will get there. I have never reached that postmark, and maybe neither have they. It merely appears as if they know where they are going.

I suppose it’s better that I don’t pretend, so I don’t become lost in the bustle. I guess waiting for that magic moment where everything was clear, was the child in me. Because life doesn’t arise from a collective whole but that of moments put together.

This world may knock me down. This world may be tough at times, and things may never become what I expect them to be. But to stop trying means to falter and end. Today I am a sitter, watcher, listener of the world, and all the people.

There are those moments where I sit silently and wonder what it is to be. The answer may never be clear, but I have this moment, and that’s all I need.

Posted on

The Painting

The swirling colors meld jointly to form an unseen picture. The oranges and pinks brushed simultaneously make a seamless sunset. And yet there is something underneath the paint that wrestles and groans, gnawing away at the canvas. The prettiest colors can cover this damaged hide, but alas, the creases will find a way to breakthrough. The paint can only hide so much. Some may dedicate their entire lives to hiding those defects.

I stare at my reflection in the soft, painted canvas. The reflection that was once hideous with all its imperfections. A reflection stood still in quicksand, now something utterly different. Because those once imperfections, those cracks, and cuts, now make the painting more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. Imperfections are what make our paintings unique. Without them, all paintings would be the same with their perfect color choices and expert strokes. And who would ever want a thing such as that?

Posted on

A Figure

There’s this person I’ve spent my entire life searching to find. I’ve scoured the highest mountain tops and the majestic dark forests—years of my life devoted to meeting this figure. As the answer to my problems, a figure built in my mind, the problems deep-rooted that have grown around me like a twisted vine festering underneath my skin.


I traveled to the deepest of oceans and saw the beauty within the bright orange coral but never found my answer. I went to the driest sandiest of deserts, and no resolution was reached. I flew to the coldest iciest place on earth in hopes that this person resided there. But alas, my travels were futile, and I returned to my home, disappointed.


For years I thought this person was lost at sea that they were an enigma fabricated by my imagination. Until one day, I looked in the mirror as my life experience and travels flashed through my mind, and I realized the person I’ve been searching for was never in those forests. The figure was never in the bottom of the ocean because that person was always closer than I could have ever imagined. After all, I am the mystical figure I’ve devoted to my life to find. You see, I always thought the voice that called to me was out in the world, but recently I’ve discovered that I could never find that person because I was searching in all the wrong places. It turns out the solution to my problems never lied within someone else’s breath or words; it always has remained within me. And this lesson I shall carry with me for the rest of my days, to teach my children, that a mystical figure doesn’t exist that’ll fix any problem because ultimately we have to do that ourselves.

Posted on

The Veil

The days that pass seem longer than the rest as I walk up and down my street. For years I have seen a distorted figure behind a high window on my street. Behind the glass, a figure used to rest in a sheer lace veil away from the world. The cover that hid them seemed permanent as they sat in their window watching the world below. I bet not one soul on the outside could tell you what used to lay underneath the veil. I heard the being who wore the mask placed it there a long time ago for a particular reason. And that reason was protection. Because the creature lying underneath knew that if no one ever saw the person they were, they couldn’t get hurt. Because if people left them, they could say it was because they didn’t understand the person they indeed were. And it took years for that person in their shear covered veil to realize that the problem wasn’t the world. Instead, the problem was inside themselves. Over time, this person grew tired of hiding away. They never felt seen by anyone around them. And eventually, the day came where they wanted to remove their protection. And they did.

The veil that once hid me from this world now lay on my floor. It’s not in the trash or hidden away but remains a reminder of how important it is for me to live and not be afraid to show who I am underneath. I’ve grown to realize that that veil served me no purpose. Because what’s the point in living if you’re always hidden?

Posted on

The Waves

The waves that crash against my feet feel like a thousand butterfly kisses grazing my skin. The waves are so soft and light as they wash onto the shore. I watch as the water ebbs and flows between my toes, and I can’t help but feel grateful for this moment. Thankful to breathe the salty ocean air and feel the breeze on my skin.

I soon stare out at the lightly colored horizon and can’t help but wonder what lies behind. The clouds create shadows and wispy figures that blow in the breeze—swaying back and forth to and fro. I can’t help but notice through the translucent waves I see a pile of rocks buried in the sand. It looks tall and sturdy, but part of me wonders how something under so much pressure can withhold the waves and remain in place. I can’t help but hope that one day I will be that sturdy, that no outside forces of the world disfigure my shape. But until then, I suppose I’ll continue to watch the waves crash against my feet.

Posted on

My Skin

I’ll shed my skin
and let the world see
The person I’ve been hiding
The real, honest, true me
I’ll muster up some courage
Because I’ve been in the dark
But the time has come
To step into the light
And let my true self, shine bright