Who am I

It seems not to fit
Any better
Than before
When I was so comfortable in my skin

I was born comfortable
Consciousness in a skin
Soft, sensitive skin
Afraid of hurts and tears

Standing up, learning to speak
Watching the mouths
Watching the skin
Of lovely boobs, with milk

Standing up and reaching out
Getting scratched and itching
Closing in, thinking of it as foul
When I looked at my skin

A tender, holy skin really
Soft and loving
White and dotted
A spotless child, and a bottomless man