My hair has tangles
from running my fingers through it.
I can't stop messing with the things
I know are mine, because I don't know
what else I'll get.
Can you tell?
My body wants someone else to notice.
To notice the nails being bitten,
the eyes when they're blinking.
I don't want to ruin myself
before you see what I'm missing.
While wiping colors on my eyes,
I wonder if my face is really mine,
when all I do
is dress it up
so maybe I'll become an object
of your time.
But more than the knots in hair
that tangle my impatience,
I want you to see the reasons
behind the clothes and under the limbs
that reach out
for some sentimental fairness.

*-Makenzie.