Summary

The poem "the skin i am in" is a reflective journey through the narrator's life, focusing on the relationship with their own skin and body image, intertwined with personal growth and motherhood.

Abstract

The poem "the skin i am in" is a poignant exploration of self-identity and acceptance, chronicling the narrator's experiences from childhood to motherhood. It begins with the sensory overload of birth, transitions through the vulnerabilities of youth, the insecurities of adolescence, and the challenges of self-image and acceptance. The narrator grapples with societal pressures, the impact of bullying, and the struggle with body image, which is further complicated by the demands of motherhood. The poem culminates in a moment of self-realization and acceptance, as the narrator embraces the skin they are in, complete with its imperfections and the history it carries.

Opinions

The narrator expresses a complex relationship with their body, marked by both dissatisfaction and a growing sense of appreciation.
There is a recurring theme of societal and personal expectations regarding beauty standards, particularly in the context of skin and body image.
The poem conveys the narrator's discomfort and alienation in social settings, especially during childhood and adolescence.
Motherhood brings a new perspective, shifting the focus from self-criticism to the nurturing role of a parent, emphasizing the beauty of life and purpose.
The narrator's journey suggests a resignation to the inevitability of aging and the acceptance of one's own skin as a testament to lived experiences.
There is a subtle critique of consumer culture, as seen in the mention of TV-advertised acne products, which contrasts with the eventual embrace of natural, unaltered skin.

the skin i am in

a free-verse poem, “Human Prompt”

watery womb my cells gather wrapped in the skin i’d be born in wrinkled, noisy erupting into air

concrete burning tiny feet running june bugs darting in the air of summer the cool plunge tippy-toed in water splashing with daddy

mosquito bitten legs scratching, blood rising in spots stop picking, stop scratching momma said

school scares me, i think the doors are so heavy, the kids are so loud they don’t like my hair i pick at that spot on my scalp i stick my finger in the open wound blood has a funny smell

stop picking momma said

i waited for someone else to open the doors and slipped between before they closed

i don’t like the playground i want to go home

the boys don’t pay much attention to a girl with unruly hair and bad skin…i pick myself raw, then cover it up again

i can’t seem to bear this thing i am in, the calories adding up as they do

tonight i’ll add them all up

my baby is the most beautiful thing, tiny mouth to breast and i feel the tug of motherhood drawing me cell by cell toward purpose

i have to eat i have to eat i try to eat

my bones feel so thin

but this baby! oh this baby!

momma… you need this stuff for acne. i saw it on the tv. yes baby, i think that would help my skin,

thank you, son

the skin i am in. the grandmother skin that i am in scarred, imperfect. mine. meals cooked. eaten. no counting.

a graveyard of skin-creams the skin i am in i love

Christina Ward, poet :::i paint with words:::