Skin and Blood - Poem 8

Differences are born in skin, blood, pride, and envy Each scratch upon the artist’s page Each flaw etched in black Each scream plotted in every line Anyone is allowed to create So why must we create such ugly things? Torn and stitched Flayed and taped Nothing made whole or complete But recycled from garbage Made to look human Drawn with non-dominant hands Messy collections of flesh and hatred Am I truly nothing more than how others have made me? Finding recycled parts of ourselves in others Reminded of how beautiful we could have been How gorgeous the world could have built us Yet, rotting away in a shell of borrowed sins Smiles plastered on like paper-mache Like a doll modeled to fit aesthetics Stuck high on a dusty shelf, I sit with limbs stiff and empty Waiting for the day my creator gifts me my own share Of skin and blood