In the arena,
my physical appearance is no secret.
A five feet three mass of flesh,
with a genuine friendly smile.
An unkempt hairdo,
that matches my four-legged lover.

My self-consciousness and shame hides
in my blind spot.
The scary, ugly, yucky, clumsy,
long list of me.
Where I chose not to look,
but let it filter the empathic ones.

The hidden areas leave crumbs,
for those who are trusted to enjoy it.
It is a delicious piece of expired candy,
that I don't know how to share.
It is weird, gnarly, and just gross enough,
to creep and sometimes fascinate.

Our unknown stares at us,
from both ends of the timeline.
We begin to confuse dreams,
and our assumptions become memories.
I no longer recall why there's a pull on my scalp,
nor how the old me faded away.