skin

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.

M.

Poetry

Mandy Joy Poole View All →

Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.

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