the others in my life have been there for a long time. This therapist skin is new, and they treat it like a parlour trick. ”Turn it on,” they beg. “I have a problem.” They do not see that I am just muscle, blood and bone underneath. This is the only skin I’m in.
They are always comparing, and we are laughing when I put on the old Meg coat. It’s comfortable and warm. I can judge and sneer. Snide comments, rolling eyes and cynicism. We love the bitter edges.
But you, you have seen only me in this skin. even as it was forming when my beating heart was still uncovered. There is comfort, some strange beautiful connection in that.
