grab my cheek for contrast
to contort and contrive
at your will, to fit the
porcelain mask you made
for me. to mold into
what you want me to be.
you could stain me red and
I still would not be the
right shade. I can’t compare
to these conditions you
made. I will never be
the right version of me
that was assigned by you.

Hold me to the light
and even just right
I will still fall short