Skin Weaver

I am a meticulous skin weaver.

On me are many scars and scabs

Sustained from words of spite

Eyes filled with malice

Reaching deep into my flesh

I stand naked in front of the mirror

Over their rough, bumpy surfaces

I run my fingers thoughtfully

How unsightly, how unwanted

I set on weaving a new skin

Flawlessness is beyond me

but faultless this skin will be

No one can pick at anything

So that they wouldn't say those words

Or look at me that way again

I wear this skin with pride

They praise me for it

They know me for it

Oh, if only I could grow

Into this skin

I cloak myself in it with care
Let them appreciate it
But only from afar -
Lest they find you out
Don't run, trip and fall

For it would not do

To rip it apart and reveal

The rotting flesh beneath

That is my insecurity.