I tried to be what
they told me to be,
but when I came
upon an image of myself
in a poem,
I changed my skin.
Pushed too deep
under bone and nail,
my hairs itched,
I struck
too hard
on stone.
There was a perfection
they expected,
but in myself
there was a contortion,
cells pulled apart,
a research of a self.
II. The Dream
You pull out a cigarette,
whistle
as I’m making my way through,
tell me that
“some people care too much.”
Words directed to a society
twisted in hypocrisy.
I bury my skin,
come up fresh,
still waiting
for people to stop
talking,
making noise.
There is a frustration,
pulls and gropes in my head
when I can’t find quiet.
Block my ears,
tape the cracks of the door,
create fiction in my memory,
I bury my skin.
Author Bio:
Natalie Ricker was born in a small town in Tennessee. Growing up surrounded by seemingly endless fields and woods, she spent most of her childhood exploring and creating stories. When she got older, she discovered poetry was the best way she could communicate her feelings and interpretations of life. She has had support from her family and from her friends, and in spite of health issues, financial issues, and other hindrances, she has continued to follow her lifelong passion of writing.