Skin Deep
Have you even run through water? That's how this felt, but in reverse. The air was thin and my muscles were heavy and liquid. I wanted to sink into the sidewalk, the pavement, the grass. I wanted to sink. I wanted to evaporate. I wanted the last several weeks to completely eviscerate.
Have you ever been in a funeral procession? That's how this felt, but backwards. I was going forward, forward, in increasingly small that carried me inevitably towards one place. And I only wanted to go back. I wanted to run back. I wanted to run. Back.
Do you know how tattoos are made? They take a hollow needle full of ink and sew it into your skin. Do you know how tattoos are removed? They aren't. You'll always have the scars. They can sear, tear, or cover up, but there will always be a mark. Have you ever heard someone say beauty is only skin deep? They probably don't know how deep skin is. They've probably never had a tattoo.
If the unremarkable days of my life were a work of art, they'd be an oil smudge on an unfinished canvas. But there are moments that stand out. Like blown glass or bugs trapped in amber or that moment you jump in a pool before being pulled under. Did you know human beings are mostly water? Sometimes I wonder what people see when they look at me. Perhaps it depends on the angle, the light, if the planets are aligned. Perhaps I just need to be shook up. Did you know Hallmark recently recalled one of its snowman snow globes? Apparently it concentrates the sunlight that passes through it enough to light up near by combustibles.
Have you ever had something so important happen to you that you were sure the enormity of the event was written all over your face? I remember when I started my period. I was sure everyone that day knew. They knew. I ran into my best friend and her mom. "How are things going? Anything new and exciting?" They asked.
"Oh, not really." I said. They knew.
The only way to really get rid of a tattoo you don't like is to put a new tattoo over it. Maybe that's why people get them in the first place. I don't know. How deep is skin deep? The skin has three main layers. The first layer alone has 30 layers of dead cells. What happens to those tattoos that are drawn over? I mean, where do they go? I've never had a tattoo, so I don't know.
It seems like people can't make up their mind about skin. Beauty is only skin deep. Oh, don't be so thin-skinned. Looks don't matter. He looks scary. I'm looking for someone with a great personality. Sorry, I can't talk, I'm late for my dermatologist appointment. Why are people so shallow? Why don't you use an exfoliator? That may help. Sorry, can't talk, I'm late for my facial. Oh well, no skin off my nose. What the hell does that even mean? No skin off my nose. Look, no skin is coming off my nose or your nose or anyone's nose. I think you are deviating from the issue. What's the issue anyway? Oh, whose nose!
Sometimes I wonder if people can look at me and see that balmy florida October and that sidewalk and pavement and grass. Do you think skin has memory? It sheds and it sheds. 30 layers of dead skin on the first layer alone. Its our largest organ and one of the only that reproduces itself. It sheds and it reproduces constantly throughout our lives. And yet no matter how many layers we go through, how many procedures we go through, how many jars of foundation we go through, it comes up the same every time. We're not just ourselves on the inside, we're ourselves on the outside too. Maybe that's why people are so obsessed with covering their skin up.
I mean, chicks in the Middle East can't show their skin, right? And Catholic school girls in the West must have knee length skirts. That's how it was where I came from anyway. What exactly are we hiding? I think everyone has interesting stories that they're too afraid to tell. But really, what's a few inches?
Where does skin come from anyway? How does it regenerate? I know there are certain things you can eat to make your skin better or worse. It seems like such a mystical process to me. Some people break out when they eat chocolate. Some people break out when they eat fish. Some people break out in the sun and other people break out when they don't get enough of the sun.
We go to tattoo shops, tanning booths, and beauty salons. Not necessarily all in the same day. The girl that gets a boob job criticizes the girl that gets a nose ring. Or maybe it's the other way around. I don't know. I've never had a boob job. Or a nose ring. And until recently, I've never been in love. What does that mean anyway?
It was a balmy Florida October and I was walking my ex-girlfriend back to her apartment. I wanted to sink into the ground. I wanted to run away. I wanted to go back. My heart was beating so loudly in my chest that I could hear it like a bass drum. She hugged me goodbye. "You should read a romance novel sometime." She said.
"Why?" I asked.
"So you can remember the feeling."
Most of my life is an oily smudge on an unfinished canvas, but some moments are blown glass. Maybe you can see them at the right angle or in the right light. Maybe you need to shake me up. They are sewn into the seams of my mind. They can be scorched, torn, or covered up, but they can never be removed. Maybe one day they will be part of some greater design. I don't know. My future and its construction remain a mystery to me. But I know that each time it will be me coming up. My skin is deep but my memory is deeper, and I don't need a novel to remember. When I walked away that evening I felt like something important had happened. I'm still not sure what.
Have you ever been in a funeral procession? That's how this felt, but backwards. I was going forward, forward, in increasingly small that carried me inevitably towards one place. And I only wanted to go back. I wanted to run back. I wanted to run. Back.
Do you know how tattoos are made? They take a hollow needle full of ink and sew it into your skin. Do you know how tattoos are removed? They aren't. You'll always have the scars. They can sear, tear, or cover up, but there will always be a mark. Have you ever heard someone say beauty is only skin deep? They probably don't know how deep skin is. They've probably never had a tattoo.
If the unremarkable days of my life were a work of art, they'd be an oil smudge on an unfinished canvas. But there are moments that stand out. Like blown glass or bugs trapped in amber or that moment you jump in a pool before being pulled under. Did you know human beings are mostly water? Sometimes I wonder what people see when they look at me. Perhaps it depends on the angle, the light, if the planets are aligned. Perhaps I just need to be shook up. Did you know Hallmark recently recalled one of its snowman snow globes? Apparently it concentrates the sunlight that passes through it enough to light up near by combustibles.
Have you ever had something so important happen to you that you were sure the enormity of the event was written all over your face? I remember when I started my period. I was sure everyone that day knew. They knew. I ran into my best friend and her mom. "How are things going? Anything new and exciting?" They asked.
"Oh, not really." I said. They knew.
The only way to really get rid of a tattoo you don't like is to put a new tattoo over it. Maybe that's why people get them in the first place. I don't know. How deep is skin deep? The skin has three main layers. The first layer alone has 30 layers of dead cells. What happens to those tattoos that are drawn over? I mean, where do they go? I've never had a tattoo, so I don't know.
It seems like people can't make up their mind about skin. Beauty is only skin deep. Oh, don't be so thin-skinned. Looks don't matter. He looks scary. I'm looking for someone with a great personality. Sorry, I can't talk, I'm late for my dermatologist appointment. Why are people so shallow? Why don't you use an exfoliator? That may help. Sorry, can't talk, I'm late for my facial. Oh well, no skin off my nose. What the hell does that even mean? No skin off my nose. Look, no skin is coming off my nose or your nose or anyone's nose. I think you are deviating from the issue. What's the issue anyway? Oh, whose nose!
Sometimes I wonder if people can look at me and see that balmy florida October and that sidewalk and pavement and grass. Do you think skin has memory? It sheds and it sheds. 30 layers of dead skin on the first layer alone. Its our largest organ and one of the only that reproduces itself. It sheds and it reproduces constantly throughout our lives. And yet no matter how many layers we go through, how many procedures we go through, how many jars of foundation we go through, it comes up the same every time. We're not just ourselves on the inside, we're ourselves on the outside too. Maybe that's why people are so obsessed with covering their skin up.
I mean, chicks in the Middle East can't show their skin, right? And Catholic school girls in the West must have knee length skirts. That's how it was where I came from anyway. What exactly are we hiding? I think everyone has interesting stories that they're too afraid to tell. But really, what's a few inches?
Where does skin come from anyway? How does it regenerate? I know there are certain things you can eat to make your skin better or worse. It seems like such a mystical process to me. Some people break out when they eat chocolate. Some people break out when they eat fish. Some people break out in the sun and other people break out when they don't get enough of the sun.
We go to tattoo shops, tanning booths, and beauty salons. Not necessarily all in the same day. The girl that gets a boob job criticizes the girl that gets a nose ring. Or maybe it's the other way around. I don't know. I've never had a boob job. Or a nose ring. And until recently, I've never been in love. What does that mean anyway?
It was a balmy Florida October and I was walking my ex-girlfriend back to her apartment. I wanted to sink into the ground. I wanted to run away. I wanted to go back. My heart was beating so loudly in my chest that I could hear it like a bass drum. She hugged me goodbye. "You should read a romance novel sometime." She said.
"Why?" I asked.
"So you can remember the feeling."
Most of my life is an oily smudge on an unfinished canvas, but some moments are blown glass. Maybe you can see them at the right angle or in the right light. Maybe you need to shake me up. They are sewn into the seams of my mind. They can be scorched, torn, or covered up, but they can never be removed. Maybe one day they will be part of some greater design. I don't know. My future and its construction remain a mystery to me. But I know that each time it will be me coming up. My skin is deep but my memory is deeper, and I don't need a novel to remember. When I walked away that evening I felt like something important had happened. I'm still not sure what.