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Mar. 12th, 2025 11:22 am
What is My Skin
Still-ness, a frozen silence broken only by the thrumming of the heart. A pounding that thrums deep in the skin. Layers below surface level, no punctures to speak of. Only comparisons belonging to the wings of the tiniest insects. Humming in unison, community, thriving and surviving off each other. Ode, ode, ode over and over again. The sound fills the ears of who hears it. Who is a bread-with between each other, family. Family of blood and tears. Built of flesh and bone, and covered in the fur of their forefathers.
Bones shackled by their skin, they share the blood. It runs their rivers, keeps them alive. Pumping breath. Community built on bones of the past and the present. Community whos bones are worn and wicked, not from a darkened heart but a viscous outside. To be hardened is to change. To change is to be loved. Loved by the hate, or loved by the kind.
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