My face has always been malleable
a canvas of clay the nearest set of
hands could mold into whatever
they wanted.
It was soft and pliable,
changing with pinches and plucks
at my skin.
A girl of many faces,
never seeing her reflection the same
never knowing who she was
without the influence of others.
I don't know who you want me to be.

I don't know how to look past
all of the false layers of me
my face has been remade so many times
I can't even see what the original color was
or if there even was one.
I wonder if you have been shaping me
my whole life.
Always guiding and changing
what made up me
a hand on my back, steering.
Did you even look at first
to see what you were destroying?
Did you deem my real skin unworthy
of your time and energy?
Did you not like what you saw?

I want to hear you admit
to your mistakes.
I want your hands to bleed with
all the paint you've covered me in.
I want your mind to picture
everything you took from me
every impulse and dream and curiosity
you pushed out of my reach.
I want you to know
that I see where your hands have been
your fingerprints are all over me
my soul tainted with the essence of you
you took me from myself
you ruined me.

I was a masterpiece before you even
picked up the paintbrush.