The Skin I Live In

I have been standing at a top of a point where four walls mocked me.
They made me affirm that I made it seem fine for everyone to be in a relationship but me.

Everyone.

Even the ocean refused to stop kissing the shore.

How do we learn to love other bodies
when
We learn not to own our bodies.

Four walls mocked me,

yelling "I am not boyfriend material"

It seemed fine for everyone to be in a relationship but me.

The skin I live in is the skin I feel
comfortable enough to wait for you and neglect carbon copies of you that quenched the thirst of my boredom.

See, the struggle is real, and Uhm I ended up losing things I thought I needed, but what is a need when we need not know of real "needs"?

The skin I live in is the skin I feel
nothing more than just being a rib from a man,
a sperm cell of a horny adult,
An Eve without An Adam to seduce and commit sin by exploring the taste of the, forbidden fruit.

The skin I live in is the skin where
beneath it lies blood cells having goosebumps as I create an image of you.
An image I might have placed in my memory locker at the back of my mind and compelled myself to forget the combination

The skin I live in is the skin I
want you to accept,
And, comprehend.

The skin that will await you.