on my cheeks there are constellations of periods of stressed times,
of bad times,
that i couldn't stop the picking.
which,
yes, i know mom,
it makes it worse.
but my hands wondered as the days grew longer and that anxious feeling sat next to me like a trained, loyal dog.
my hands wondered to the places on my face that made me feel less than,
my cheeks.
i closed my eyes tightly as i ran my hand over small bumps and big bumps and bumps that hurt and bumps that i wouldn't let heal.
i cried for hours on end.
my mother made me try every product on the shelf,
oh how i remember the sound of the cash register ringing as my mother paid for another product that i knew just wouldn't work.
but still i tried,
and i tried every home remedy that i could find on the internet.
tomatoes,
crushed up aspirin,
green tea,
lemons,
limes,
bananas,
and toothpaste.
oh the toothpaste how i thought it would work.
how i woke up the first night and found burned acne scars from the toothpaste,
oh the toothpaste.
i touch my cheeks now with closed eyes,
no bumps except on bad days,
smooth skin,
i don't cry anymore because of it.
but when i look into the mirror i see dark spots of where those bumps laid,
i am still a sky full of constellations
and i'm learning to be okay with that.