who is our skin?

we’ve said its ok all along,
to be the one behind the chair
lying to no one but the ghost in the mirror.

you sit on the outside
looking into to that house,
that soul.
inside, lurking behind the
tightly bound shutters,
we see the dark corner that never grew.
a girl who never let herself be young.

before we taught ourselves to lie
we taught ourselves to believe we were made
to carve out our own perfection.
to die by this sword, daily.

our standards met in the form
of disappointment of ourselves.

we fear being ignorant,
being vulnerable, and simple.
yet the absence of these
is not wisdom, it’s loss.

where does simplicity
rest within complex walls
built so high within ourselves?

i’m not the gate keeper
at the door of my own wisdom. what do i know?
I do not hold the key to the mysteries about myself,
the ones we don’t fully understand.

maybe that’s the beauty

I don’t have to know at all..
were just the ones who tell the story.

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