I dont remember when the great fire came
Blackened burned charred skin
Its quite painless when you touch it
Its always been this way
Yet sometimes beams of affection
Stealthy treacherous rays of sunlight
Tease the burned skin with their needles
And veins burst open with their colors
Still you cant paint poems on your burned skin
Or tattoe permanent commitment on it
There wont ever be lines, wrinkles, cellulite
No gentle touches, caresses
Scared, disabled, deformed skin
After the great fire came or was it acid
They poured on us day after day
Till we learned to love our burned skin
And our nerves became deadened to the human touch
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem