My skin fits like a glove:
worn thin by heartache and age.
The seams hold together just right;
just tight enough
to keep everything safe and within.
All my blood and organs –
my heart and the palpitations.
I feel unwanted and frightened
because I desire to feel normal;
to feel like a woman
not a body bag, not a sack of mishaps,
of everything will get better in time.
My skin fits and grips:
aching to become one
with the soul whispering
hidden in my body, desperate to begin.
One step and then two.
A whole new me and you
because my skin fits,
and I smile as it stretches taut
across each and every insecurity.
Feather light chainmail;
a breastplate hammered with wishes;
a hope this skin
will feel more comfortable,
the more I wear it in.
Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019