It's not like you don't turn me on.
Every time you walked past
I thought, She's fit.
Come-to-bed eyes.
We both want to
feel my skin
against your skin.
It's not like you're on
or I'm changing into
a woman. It's my past.
Look into my eyes.
I just wanted to fit
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in. A misfit.
Mixed race but light-skinned,
brown hair, blue eyes,
bootboy with a hard-on.
I passed.
I had to.
Then I got this tattoo.
I did it in a fit
of rage. It soon passed.
You want to read my skin?
Whatever turns you on.
I closed my eyes
and put my soul on ice,
denied a black dad, too
terrified to let on.
I wore the outfit,
marched with the skins.
I don't like to talk about the past,
I hate my past.
My big lie reflected in their eyes,
their hatred in my skin.
With this tattoo
I'm a walking Photofit.
That's why I keep my clothes on.
It's past midnight. I'll call a cab if you want me to.
But your eyes know how to fit
a condom like a second skin. Come on…
Beautiful piece of poetry, well articulated and nicely penned in good diction with conviction. Thanks for sharing Patience.
Aloha Patience... Welcome to PoemHunter... and come on with more... a bravo and a kudo and more for your alpha post... I post here and every where and there also... the closing makes me wonder about that tan mark on your ring finger... You have some very elegant photos on the www... I do thank you for joining in the fray and do wish you a fine and enjoyable tenure... All of the best from this life, to you, and all of your relations... Michaelw1two
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Skin and skin made to a beautiful poem.