I've always been told to look after my skin as it's the largest organ of the body,
"Your skin is beautiful! So young and so clear!" they would say,
But to me it felt dirty.
I scrubbed and scrubbed at my skin,
Even the angry erythema can't make me stop,
It wasn't about being clean anymore.
When I shower, my main aim is to scrub away the touch of your execrable hands,
My skin cries as I abrade the feeling of your grimy mitts wandering the curves of my body,
The aggressive movements of my arm become uncontrollable as it runs the loofah back and forth trying so desperately to clean my skin under the red water,
When I leave the shower my skin still doesn't feel clean.
My skin no longer feels like my own.
