My Skin Is Like The Sky

I sit, head back and neck aching

Feet naked and fire blazing

Watching the sky;


Satellites out on the darkness just grazing 

And I pick the stars out, it’s amazing.


I find them so beautiful, 

Littering the picture, small spots bursting 

And patterns of mandalas and faces 

And shapes and traces of magic 

Lace the black places of clearness…

Goodness gracious.

More reveal themselves every second 

I’m drunk on beauty, yes I’m wasted.


I rest with my neck in right angle and observe all the stars 

That in the past I haven’t appreciated 

And in the dusk, it dawned on me

That the sky is like my skin; first clear then dots replaced it.


I shrouded in hideous insecurity,

Picked my cheeks in the mirror, deprecated all of me

Lathered on all kinds of fixes and creams

Hoping for clear skies

When thunder seemed the only weather

My forehead needs

I seethed like lighting, bolted from trying

To be comfortable in my flesh

And exciting thoughts of death

Because I was told summer’s pale blue,

With iridescent sparkle and shine

Was better than the winter’s flocking beaches of blemish

That seemed to be all mine. 


But tonight,

I’m lost in the dark’s glory. 

Following the ancient stories

Of star tracking, tracing

And storing 

All of history in my chin,

My third eye and my cheeks.


One day these photos of me

Will be looked upon lovingly,

Stared at with all the stars burning;

I think my skies are turning. 



By Lyric Deep.

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