I Didn't Know What Cutaneously Meant Before I Wrote This

When I was six, I would pick up sticks

To make a house for my little ant friend.

Its house fell apart, and that's when I knew

They were merely a means to an end.

In due time, I had turned nine,

And pink was all I would wear.

I danced around to the Corrs' In Blue,

While shaking my dirty blonde hair.

I reached fourteen and thought I was scene,

Or goth, or emo, or punk.

My makeup was black; I was way off track,

And my outlook on life was junk.

Now I'm eighteen, engaged and enrolled,

Filled with tattoos cutaneously

But now I build houses for those in my heart,

And wear pink and black simultaneously.