Skin deep

We often dismiss things as being only "skin deep" - insignificant, superficial, not really felt, non-threatening.

Ha! Our skin is the largest organ in our wondrous bodies; it is superficial but multi-layered, multi-characteristic and colourful according to area and sensory requirements; has more nerve-endings than any other organ; and it is our true "first line of defense" which, if infected or over-exposed, might break down until it, unsuspectingly and unwittingly, kills us.

My feelings are skin deep, and from that moment on, they seep in, they burst out.

My skin remembers, writing itself with lines, colours, textures. It talks, tells, warns, encourages. A palm-reader can describe my destiny as though looking at a hieroglyph, and a doctor can tell how much sun I took as a child. An angry red splotch, an enticing blush, a shiver. My skin speaks loud and honest, like the tail of a dog. I trust my skin when I doubt my mind. It does not know how to lie.

And yet, it hides too much. I cannot see the inside, where it is all dark. An accomplice, it keeps prying eyes looking out, unable to catch up on the mischief that the other cells, the other organs are preparing. An accessory to murder. The secrets are deep, deep and heartfelt.

Or only just, barely, skin deep.