My skin is drying

Weathered by the oppression

Unfairly it believes in the right to exfoliate

Crusted rot is filling up my pores.

Deprived of its right to moisture

Psoriasis infects the beliefs

Persecuted under the force of gravity

Difficulty breathing

My cover is peeling away,

Bit by angry bit

Flaking off a utopia

Hoping to make it big, striking out on its own.

Discarded pieces of immigrating flesh

My skin is rebelling to a free new world.

A fresh scab is not an island.

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