Now
The thunderous joy subsides
And I am out of breath
Cheeks hurting
Do I wear this face of self
Everywhere i go?
Do they see?
The confliction in creases
The smallness
The largeness
Of things
The disproportionate
Incapacities
I am no sombre-eyed bird
They say I smile sweetly
But I do not like my teeth
I do not like my joy
I am stiffled by my
Beautiful
Self-acceptance show
It is terrifying to appear
To be seen, twisted
Moulded over and over
By the eyeless mind,
Ever unchanged and
Impossibly me
I am open
For all but myself to see
And how many faces
For how many watchers
Am I to wear them all?
By God, am I to become them