Naked Skin

My skin is naked…

long sleeves, pants,

hats, gloves — daily

partners to repel

corner-of-the-eye stares

and finger pointing

or outright yells,

“Freak!  Weird-o!”

like mosquitoes

probing an opening.

Until…

my skin craves adornment

with hive itches, inflamed

by threads grating across.

I bare my arm and cringe

under the tattooist’s gaze

until thread sews through

my skin soothed, enthused

with each puncture electrifying

until my skin shivers bliss

to breathe unhindered.