Francesca Martin Poetry

Even with the dust cover on,
We’re still susceptible
Skin is simply protection.
A face is unique,
But not a reflection
All of the exterior,
What we consume in glance--
A distorted projection
Of an inner-outer being
Fearful of rejection
Desiring affection
Hidden from the world
Contracting the disease
When it feels someone peering
Out of the shadows, past the mist
The nearly tangible grasp
Impossible
Yet perceivable
Until it releases hold
Whether you are ready or not
And we find the kind of blemish
Not knowledgeable to all
But safety-pinned deep
In a crevice of the mind
Sunk inward to keep

Poet: Francesca Martin