Poetry Series – Skin Blemishes

Skin Blemishes

I pull my skin tight, run my fingertips over it and look closely.
I’m searching for imperfections to pick at, magnify.
Letting nature take its course these things would come and go.
Taking it into my own hands, I’m determined to dig them out of me.
I leave behind a trail of glowing red as evidence.
Moments later, I run my fingertips over my skin again, it’s swollen.
Tiny bump, tiny imperfection, slowly forming a mountain.
A range spreads across my face, my body, anywhere my hands discovered.
I pause to contemplate the non-physical, assuming this is an indicator.
What am I picking myself to pieces about?
What imperfections are beyond my level of acceptance?
When will I realize that digging away at myself creates bigger problems?

Much love, until next time.