SKIN

I do not
have delicate
fingers
or
frail
wrists
or pale
palms
with traces
of blue
green
like cross roads
on paper thin
maps
printed
journeys

no

I have bruised
knuckles
scraped
palms
torn wrists
calloused
scarred arms
I wear with pride
marks
stretched along
my forearm
as if I drew them on
a language
they don’t recognise
it reads
I’m a warrior
a knight put in
an armour of skin
flawed
carved
etched with history
look at me

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