I hate the way my face
sloughs off in chunks when I stare at the mirror
I pull a frown, and a piece falls from the cheek

Each time I scrabble sluggishly at the sink
slapping back the flesh with a sound like mud cakes from when we were kids
When mirrors were for checking fallen teeth
and soft toy drama plays

Not a play by play surgical cross section with
every dermatologically perfect stencil I’ve scrolled past
Projected across my forehead

Not a soundtrack for
the way my bones would crack and grind
If I could squeeze and mould it just right


I hate the way that if I stand still enough
I can smell the curdling of my inadequacy
Mixed and folded into the screams in my head
until I can’t tell which ends and which begins

I laugh and joke and fear so desperately
that they don’t burn through my wax covered skin
To find all the holes I thought I beat out of me
when I learned I stayed cleaner in pretty packaging

Give me your eyes
so I can see out of them
Gaze upon this stretched out body and observe
Which wine pairs well with me,
being forgotten or being known?
Either way, I’m intoxicated on your judgement
and drunk on the guillotine of the youth