Under the Skin

As many of you already know  (I go on about it enough!) that I am a sufferer of bad eczema which has the annoying ability to really scrape away at one’s soul. So for all who have skin conditions or even any type of illness’ whether it be emotional or bodily, here’s to you lot. Nobody can really understand what it is like to be the fourteen-year-old smothering herself in makeup because of her acne, or the eighteen-year-old young man who only wears long-sleeved shirts to cover up the blotches on his skin. True, there are so many variations of terminal illness that is so awful and incomparable – but it doesn’t have to be life-threatening to threaten life. Keep your chin up, honey.

last night I woke up with blood dripping down my arm
it was 3 am and in alarm, i jumped out of my bed
and fell onto my floor, hitting my head
I yelled out in frustration
because of the infection that I have on my skin
ezcema, also known as the devil’s grin
the itchiest scratch irritating MY one protective layer
an autoimmune disease that is the slayer
of fourteen-year-olds with red patches on their rosy cheeks.
eczema, the voice whispering to you that you’re a ‘freak’
and you try to seek the trigger
but the itch only grows bigger
while the sparkle in your iris drowns
in the tears of self-destruction.

however, my loves, self-destruction
can be reframed as construction
when you decide to love yourself
for yourself, for your heart’s health
because he’s not worth it. she’s not worth it.
but you are worthy enough to admit
that life is tough and your skin is rough
compared to the model in the magazines
and that girl in the blue jeans
and that man in the limousine
and the libertines who appear to have so much
more
than
you.
but my little one, that’s not true as
no one can understand every single war
that each individual soldier swore
not to talk about.
hushed by shouting societies
that interrupt your cries of anxieties
society: an artificial construction
that we’ve constructed to consume
our souls and doom our children of the stars.
we may as well put our hearts in jars
and forget about nature and relive our scars.

my skin is here to hold me together
and yes, it hurts, man does it hurt
but I am going to stand up in the stormy weather
and wear that pretty skirt
that reveals my red, itchy legs because
it does not matter what sex
you are or you attract, for a matter of fact
please don’t hide those beautiful eyes
because you feel ugly.
there are thousands of people, roughly
who have illness’ like eczema, acne
psoriasis, exactly – so let us smile
and let go of the palm that you cling to
and shift your focus on the way
you’re a genius of wordplay
a brilliant maker of souffle
a potential writer of a great play
or even the way you can crochet
the fabrics of your being
into guaranteeing
that you are allowed to love yourself,
so little one, please
please
love yourself.
Draw on the walls of your existence
with bright colours
filling the distance between you
and the melody of the violin.

let the light in
let the love in
and please,
please
stop scratching away at your beautiful skin.