Member-only story
Faces
A Poem
it’s another day where you eye me
and act as if you’re being kind
when my face doesn’t match up
to your every expectation.
maybe I’m just the ugly in your life,
that stain you can’t stand to claim
even as your blood runs in my veins
and I’m just a stubborn mimic.
it’s easy to put on the creams,
the powders, and the masks —
all clever tricks of willful deceit
to hide what beats underneath.
no one’s called me a monster (yet),
but you look at me sometimes
as if I disgust you, disappoint you,
just by daring to be nothing like you.
yet my reflection tells me all the time
just how right you are in your critique
because beauty isn’t second nature
to someone broken like me.
maybe I’d do better to be your mirror —
maybe then I might have a chance
at some kind of happily-ever-after —
but it’s too late for me, isn’t it?
