Skins

I'm starting to feel comfortable in my own skin.   Being me.

My daughter, still a child, was born and remains that way.  At ease.  

For me, its like this:

It's like wearing slightly a worn fleece.  Or that comfy green-hooded sweatshirt. The one with the frayed sleeve bottoms of disintegrating threads.  With the big middle pocket, that I could slip my hands into.  And stretch. 

My skin feels liquid and begins to loosen.   A stretchy material.  It doesn't hurt.  It's just what happens.  

I disrobe.  Step out.

It slides and slips off my body.  

And then its sitting in a heap on the floor at my feet.  Like a rubberized Halloween costume, discarded after the party.

It's very very quiet.

Left underneath is the same me.

And that's how I know.