it is tender and translucent
like the virgin skin of a
new lesion;
soft and afflicted. unprepared,
unprotected. just like they said
as i focused my gaze
on their incensed countenances.
"you are not ready, not ready
to survive her."
they did not even have to mash
their fingers into my imperfections
to feel the fibrous tissue
swelling underneath that perceived
vulnerability.
it is an oddly unnatural thing, how
naturally the blood clots,
fortifies. rebuilds.
how the scars that line my limbs
lock within the most sagacious
defenses and adamantine surfaces.
the skin on their bodies
is as flawed as
the smooth lids that blink over
doubtful eyes.
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