I would strip my skin off for you. I would let you see me, whole, with no inhibitions. I would strip my skin off for you, leaving nothing left but flesh and bone, and the tendons that flex beneath my muscle. I would let you view me in this state, entirely bare and vulnerable, and I will do it because you have simply asked. I would endure the stares and the ridicule, the sneering and the harassment, because I am doing this for you; because you asked me to. The difference is, as I streak blood throughout the house and my skin slowly dries within the closet, you will do nothing. You will not reassure me and you will hardly look my way. I have felt that recently, you have wanted to see me as a half. You no longer wish to see me as I am, but instead hidden in plain sight, shrouded in my skin. I have ground embarrassed and ashamed, but I can no longer go back; I no longer fit within my skin. I wish I could grow it back, to hide again. Perhaps then you will start loving me.