I was stitched into the wrong skin
and nightly it rebels against me;
rashes bloom scarlet in the stifling heat
of a summer that, by day,
never shows its face.
It knew of my disdain for it;
our maliciousness towards each other was
fueled by genetics,
and the nervous rage it stirred up in my heart;
my heart and deficient insides.
The things I thought about it
in front of the icy mirror
brewed a poison, simmering, and
burning holes in the crook of my arm and
all over the backs of my legs; my thighs
burned up like hell and
my skin cackled and shrieked
at her victory.