My Skin

I love my skin.
I adore how soft and gentle it is.
So gentle, even a scratch leaves a scar marking an epoch of time.
Time, just as gentle as my skin, slowly removes the scar as if it was just an itch.

I love my skin.
I cherish it because I chose to grow old with it. As my skin darkens so do I, as it lightens I shine. My skin folds and I bend to its will. My skin smooths and I extend.

I love my skin.
I take good care of it. Ignore the blemishes, please. and the pimples if you don't mind, it's all a part of a master plan to shape and mold me into the person I am.

I love my skin.
The tiny hairs on my skin make me a bit sensitive.
Some hairs are curly, some are straight, most strands are black, and maybe four greys. The hairs draw paths on my skin, indicating exactly where your hands lay if you were to caress it.

I love my skin.
It responds well to lotions and oils, exemplifying and complimenting its glow and scent.

I love my skin.
Renewal is a constant , shedding what I thought was perfect only to show me there is more to this. It outlines my curves and cups what cannot be held inside.

I love my skin.