Young Writers Society

Sometimes I feel like I’m too big for my own skin
Like I’m bursting out
And if I fell out, I’d never get back in

Then again a lot of the time I feel as though I’m way too small and insignificant,
An imposter in my own skin.
As though this skin just wasn’t made for me,
Kind of expecting to be asked “how’d you even get in?”

It’s as if I came across it quite by accident in some dark alley,
Where robbers assess their steals,
Innocently wondering along
And my skin was there, just abandoned on the ground
“Worthless”
Stupid robbers didn’t know what they found.

Or in a charity shop
Donated accidently along with a bunch of other unwanted objects.
And my skin,
Before it was my skin
Was hung upon the rail
Among the lovely coats in bad colours
The beautiful dresses that have yet to find the girl they fit just right
And the shoes people thought they needed more than anything in the world
Which really, they knew they didn’t

Perhaps the phrase is really
“Throwing away”
Or
“Getting rid of”
Rather than
“Generously donating”
Who are we kidding?
It’s just to make us feel good
Good enough to go out and buy more
It’s a horrible idea that the charity bins could be in league with the chain stores

Either way perhaps it was here that I accidently came upon my skin
Maybe I tried it on and it fit just fine
All I really know that it doesn’t feel like mine
Not anymore.