Eczema

My raw steak colored skin

                                        fl

                                            ak

                                                 es

                                                           off

I am afraid

   That others will see my flesh falling like snow

 

I am red    and pink

                                            But I am meant to be brown

I would like to scream

                                            But I should be silent

 

There comes a day

Every now and then

when I look in the mirror

               And I don’t cringe

 

There comes that day

       When I don’t smear makeup          on

I don’t put my hood                 up

 

I can not hide

              My illness anymore

Why am I not as beautiful

As the rest?

                                The reality is that I am

                       Even though I fear the judgement that consumes the best of us

I have already been judged

       

 

By me.

I found myself worthy.   It is enough.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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