Scrub My Skin

Scrub My Skin

Imagine me with freckles
In a world of unmarked faces
A world of unscarred, creamy,
Smooth skin…

This poem isn’t about color –
It’s acknowledging feeling like
An other.

Like, there I am with freckles
Not like I want freckles
I hate the way they photograph,
But they’re there.
They’re me.

And suddenly, everyone’s all
“Freckles just don’t look normal!”
“I knew a guy in college with freckles,
But I just don’t want my kids around them…”
“Maybe your freckles are just a phase?”
“Freckles are reckless and infectious!”

So now I try to hide them.
Wherever I go.
Whenever I’m out.

I even scrub my skin until it’s raw.
Until I think they’re gone.
Crying, trying to hide them
Pretending I don’t have spotted skin.
Concealer doesn’t work.
There’s nothing I can do, though,
I have freckles!
I was born with them,
Or maybe some showed up as I got older –
Plus, they always show through
Any trick I try.

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