Skin

Look in the mirror and I see Someone who doesn’t look like me. It’s skin is tight and there’s too much, It has some parts that I don’t want. When people look at me they say They see (him/her) I say okay. They see my mom, my dad, my aunt, But they don’t see me how I want. Avoid mirrors, don’t look at them, (Every day since who-knows-when.) My nails are sharp, not sharp enough, The knife leaves lines and cracks and cuts. They let me see what’s underneath. A different name, a different me. A different person, all their own. Not him or her, someone whose grown. Someone who knows just who they are, Someone who doesn’t need the scars. I’ll leave them underneath for now, A secret I’ll keep to myself. And maybe just a friend or two, Until I finally tell a few. And maybe then my family’s next, From them don’t know what to expect. I hope they’ll look at me and say They still just see me, anyway. And call me he or they or them And use the name that fits my skin And help me fix some other stuff So people see me how I want.