Who are we beneath the layers we wear?
We don’t always choose our first skin.
Some things are placed on us early.
Quietly.
Repeated, until they begin to feel like our own.
A skin, built by hand.
Soft on the outside.
Untouchable, they said.
Tall.
Graceful.
Composed.
This is what they wanted.
This is what they saw.
Some are given.
Some are expected.
Some we build to survive.
But beneath it,
something else forms.
A shield.
A scaffold.
To hold it all in.
To let their words pass through
without leaving a mark.
To survive being seen —
and being misunderstood.
This is the skin I borrowed.
Not to hide.
But to stay standing.
Behind this piece
The skin I borrowed explores the quiet ways identity is shaped by expectation. What looks like a gift can become a role. And roles, repeated long enough, begin to feel like truth. It reflects the tension between appearing delicate and needing to be resilient. The structure resembles softness, but was built like armor — layer by layer, by hand. What parts of us are truly ours, and what parts did we build to survive being seen?