Her Tin Skin

i want her tin skin. i want
her militant barbie breast,
resistant, cupped, no, cocked
in the V of her elbow. i want
my curves mountainous

and locked. i want her
arabesque eyes, i want her
tar markings, her curlicues,
i want her tin skin. she
is a tree, her hair a forest

of strength. i want to be
adorned with bottles. i
want my brownness
to cover all but the silver
edges of my tin skin. my

sculptor should have made
me like her round-bellied
maker hewed her: with chain-
saw in hand, roughly. cut
away from me everything

but the semblance of tender.
let nothing but my flexed
foot, toeing childhood, tell
the night-eyed, who know
how to look, what lies within.

by Evie Shockley

Comments (5)

I must admit, I love your style of writing, a poetess with a unique spin on words as yours is such a breath of the freshest air, this poem can connect with everyone..oh how we wish we had what others have been blessed with, the mirror is indeed a place we see need for improvements
but the semblance of tender. let nothing but my flexed....lies within- well shape
What lies within! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
A beautiful poem on shape nicely executed. Thanks and congratulation for being selected this poem as the poem of the day.
another great womanhood writings- nice