The Skin I'M In Poem by Riley Choma

I hate the skin I'm in.

When I walk down the street it feels like everyone is watching.

They made me so sure no one could ever find me beautiful, they made me so sure ridicule would be constant and given by everyone, they made me so sure, that I am now forever paranoid to walk into a room.

The biggest descriptors they had for me were always taunt, and now everyday they taunt me even when they are not around, because those harsh words leave a residue that can't be removed.

People ask me 'Who are you, ' and I pause.

I have been so trained to believe them, that for a moment, the only descriptor my mind can find is fat.

All in under a minuet I hold back a tear for both of my rubbing thighs, and I choke at the thought and reality of my stomach flowing the waist bands over of every and any pair of jeans.

They asking me 'Who are you, ' and all I can think is they already know.

They are after all, the ones that made feel this so long ago...

I am an individual that changes ten times, looks in three different mirrors, and paints my face with every product in my makeup drawer wanting to be pretty.

Why do I still not feel pretty?

I pull at my stomach and I pick at my skin as if insecurities were something you could just pull off.

Its because of words that I look in the mirror and see holes.

Oh and how I wish that were a metaphor!

My body is full of self inflicted scars.

They weren't intentional, but the same can't be said for the words that indirectly left them.