Now adult, I glance down
at my carpet, dark brown,
to see flakes with odd shapes in them too:

songbirds flown, children grown,
pastry bits, ice cream cones,
an orangutan trapped in a zoo.

When I think what I've missed
because of my skin,
while I'm staring at flakes or the blue,

I remember my share in large spots of fun
and the people who ignored my skin's hue.
I glance up, I glance down, I let myself frown,
then refocus on what's really true.

We all have our troubles,
not many are whole,
and our tolerance gives us the glue

to keep going in our lives,
enjoying what we can, 
no matter the scowls of a few.

If we're here to learn lessons,
perhaps I've learned mine
and next time I'll return blemish free.

Bright spots won't peel off
so much of my life.
The new spots I live in will be

beach resorts, tennis courts.  They'll agree
with my happier skin, its psoriasis gone,
exposing a much freer me.