Skin

doublea

,United States

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"Why are we seated so close to the kitchen? Is it because we're black?" Arthur Spooner, King of Queens

SKIN by Andia Greenlee

Every day I am stretched, instead of growing in the mold of my Creator's hand. Stretch marks form; I count them, there are twenty-one, in April twenty-two.

Pulling at it, making sure it all fits snug, tight. Born with it, but I never wore it right by the world's view. There's more to me than brown skin gleaming in the sun, wake me up from dreaming about being someone else. It sags toward the earth Stretched to fit a mold of

but feel free to pinch me;

instead of snapping back.

assimilating into popular culture, being ''black'', or being me, a mixture of it all. Stretched.

Hanging loosely on fragile bones like an overcoat instead of that cute leather trench coat I saw on that girl yesterday. I stare at a Picasso painting, struggling to regain my identity, my face,