Dyed by You.

Throughout my life I’ve been dyed,

others’ tones diffused onto mine,

bleeding their ink onto me,

staining my unscathed hands.

Dispersing into every wrinkle,

under my nails,

beneath my skin.

Scrubbing, scratching, breaking

through the surface.

Yet they are still dyed

with only your remnants–

No matter what I attempt,

my natural tone is shrouded,

embedded with a foreign medium.

As time goes on,

one can only hope

Your tone will wash out

and my precious, unsullied

skin will begin to resurface.

Until then,

my hands are unknown to me,

a foreign object.

No longer my tone,

but Your tone.

Now since you’ve gone

Your tone

will temporarily dye my hands

and leave me

a stranger to myself.