I think you see my skin first. It looks best in the moonlight.
It is dry and crackly, but only abrasive if you get too close. On the inside
though, I can feel it melting. The skin melts in shivers down my spine and
pools at my feet making it difficult to walk. “Men are anxious to improve their
circumstances, but are unwilling to improve themselves.” I am men.
I love
beginnings and I hate endings, but I can’t introduce myself and I write fierce farewell
letters. I can tell you that I like words but I like people more and because I’m narcissistic, I like myself most. But if you let me continue, you would know that
sometimes, that order is entirely inverted. If you let me continue, you would
know that I know what is right and desperately want people to think I’m good,
but I rarely do anything truly good. I think you would notice that I’m
hypocritical because I’m a teenager, bipolar because I’m hormonal, and
genuinely terrified. I’m terrified because I’m living in this skin that is too new,
but nobody said it was youthful. It is the skin that hears rumors about
weather. I will tell you that I feel
really invincible because I’m so young, but that’s only my way of telling you
how vulnerable I really am. I am hypersensitive to awkward moments, but that’s
funny, because I create them.
So here’s to the speaker. She’s the hero, but she’s
no saint.
