I decorate my skin with signs that I’ve felt something, signs that I’ve done things in my life. Made memories. Had dreams and desires.
I decorate my skin in black ink; starkly contrasted on my sensitively white yet native body.
I decorate my skin with modern fragrances to wash away all the scents that say I am normal and womanly without need for covering.
I decorate my skin with cotton and denim, to hide my perfectly imperfect form from your steel glances.
You decorate my skin with your lips. I find that’s the best cover up for a life that needs no hiding.