A Letter To My Skin: Back

Few of us ever spend much time looking at you. Our entire lives are spent facing the other direction and we have to crane over our shoulders to get a good view of your vast expanse. You used to be a clean canvas, cutting a perfect shape when I caught a glance of you in passing reflections. I can’t remember what that looked like now.

Later I lost sight of you completely; I turned my gaze from the mirror and kept you shrouded in mystery. I didn’t want another thing to criticise. Eventually I forgot about entirely, you became a swathe of skin I had no use for, at least until I could cover you in tattoos.

When the rest of my skin was flaring up, my attention was held elsewhere; it took a doctor to make me notice you again. The stark lights of a hospital photo studio illuminated you once more. Staring at snapshots of two bruises atop your shoulders and the greyish trails that had sprung up, broke my heart. I had convinced myself that you would escape unscathed from the war being fought over the other ramparts of my body.

After that blunt exposure, I came home and peered over my shoulder at your corrupted pink flesh and mourned the loss of a canvas I’d been saving for colourful designs of wildlife. I was left with your own version of a tattoo; one I wish I’d never paid for.

It was easy to forget you. I simply averted my eyes from the bizarre etching my body had spawned. While every other scar had become impossible to avoid, I could let you fade into the background, avoiding your reflection was a rare gift of ignorance.

For far too long I have mourned the lost chance to adorn you in the way I wanted. I kept your unique beauty covered in long sleeved tops and a rainbow of kimonos to protect your greyish tissue from prying eyes. In the face of fear, I refused to even let you touch the air.

I was terrified of confused questions and judgemental looks because I didn’t want to admit that you existed. With you covered, I could pretend that at least one part of my skin wasn’t flawed. I hoped that one day I’d shrug of my cloak of protection and you’d be transformed, injected with new life and scar free.

I wasted too much time on that silly dream. Although you may never be adorned with the colourful designs I envisioned, you have created a tattoo that’s one of a kind. It will forever remain carved into your flesh and I won’t forget to treasure it again. I’ll let you breathe and meet the world on your own terms, as your beautiful, scarred self.