It’s everyone always looking at

your arms with a look of pity.

It’s people asking “what happened” or 

“can I touch them?”  

It’s having to always wear sunscreen 

because you burn fast and your back peels bad.

It’s being told to be proud of them even

though you’ve also been told they look weird.

It’s wishing you had the guts to say–

Try having third degree burns, 

undergoing skin graft surgeries, 

and four years of medical follow ups.

Then tell me I look weird.

–but replacing your anger with a smile.

It’s putting put on lotion every single day 

because the scars dry up so fast and three 

times in the winter because of the heating.

It’s being told how brave you are even

though they gave you roofies to avoid PTSD.

It’s later realizing the painful irony

that a date rape drug saved your sanity.

It’s not knowing what happened and 

not asking your parents because it 

never seems to be a good time....

It’s looking at pictures of before you were burnt, 

unable to imagine yourself with 

Normal Skin.