I tried to get all this dead
skin off my face
my new face underneath
every morning scrub
it ends up in the towels
and in my fingernails
my beauty was always there
I always knew
I’m trying not to address
him in my inky pen
use impersonal distant pronouns
I’ve been avoiding myself
you (there, I give in)
still expose my secrets
six months past I can
begin to hate you again, but
your impassive stare
leaves silence only
you kill my words
my dead skin
my dead heart
my imperfect face I will fight
you everyday in the mirror
maybe I choose to be vain
11-96
