k.r. taylor

i shed my layers 
              to the bedroom floor
and my   discomfort and    uncertainty 
              of being bare had me wandering into 
    the comfort of curiosity 

because    in those moments of    removing
pieces of  what steered me clear of   vulnerability
              i swore my skin came off too
like some kind of lizard girl    turning into woman

at the hands of a man who traced the  curves of my body
           like he was mapping out 
    everything that had ever happened to me
                   (he certainly wasn’t) 

it felt as if it was       
              out in the open
that my skin was     gone and
every wall was knocked down

and this body was just 
a shell of horrors
and a little girl begging to be met with gentle hands
                (and he had done so, that time)

the floor held my clothes    gently
as i    sighed and      ached 
              until i was filled 
with shame and a glass of tap water

and this night became 
the beginning of wondering
              if this body
will ever be mine again

or if i shed who i was 
when i realized
he would never    ever    be naked in ways
       that have nothing to do with skin