“Skin” by Adam Sellers

My Name is Adam. And I have skin. Skin for miles. My skin is special. It’s special because it’s mine. Mine only.

I call my acne-filled forehead a volcanic field. One touch and my head will erupt. Gross I know, but it’s my forehead.

I call my thighs the beach. Waves have left their mark. But the forest of hair covers them in a warm embrace. They are my thighs.

I call my chest the DIY project. Because it was shrunk and put back together. Copied and pasted. To my liking only. It’s my chest.

I call my arms an art piece. Once covered with lines from my red pen. Have now transformed into a canvas. I can cover it however I want. They are my arms.

I call my body a rare gem. It has been tarnished. Picked at. And been abused. But it still shines.

My body does not define who I am as a person. My skin does not deserve the storm it has been through. My body still stands to this day.