Peach is the color of the crayon that kids would color people's flesh with.
Peach is the color I made the smiling girl in my drawing when I was 5 and labeled it "me".
Peach is the color of my skin.
And when he's around, my skin feels beautiful.
My skin glows.
I'm comfortable in my peachy skin when he's near.
The skin, I once, felt like a stranger in and the skin I sliced open, trying to escape.
Every bone and muscle ached under the weight of this skin I hardly wanted to call mine.
This peachy skin.
Now he kisses the white scars that clash with the peach of my skin.
He looks at me and says, "beautiful."
He holds me so tight that I have no choice but to stay in the skin I'm in
And I have no objections.
The ache in my body subsides at his touch like a pain reliever to a broken bone.
Peach is the color of my skin.
The skin that, for once, am glad to be in.
-(cm)
YOU ARE READING
Paper Cut Poems
RandomThe poems I write. They are mix-matched like regular poetry books. Like "The collection of Edgar Alan Poe" or Jack Frost. So I guess you could say it's "The Collection of CeCe Metcalf" Hope you enjoy.
