Some people’s sense of how they look

is etched on the inside of their eyelids

But I have always felt mine is poured into a basin of water

I’m always on fingernail scrape away from distortion

Opinions

Always had the annoying habit

Of making me forget my own reflection

 

My teeth are dirt roads

Winding willful

My skin dipping valley

Rising hills 

My stomach

Bubbling spring bubbling over

My eyes gaping hole

With too short covers

My hair untamable

My nails bitten submissive

I won a beauty pageant once

But I am no beauty queen

 

Sometimes I stand in front of the mirror

Stripped of any and all shields

Eyes turned inspectors

Detecting all flaws

With minute precision

Reporting to brain

“Meh. She’s okay.”

 

So I stopped dealing in covers

When I realized my talent lay in transcript

And every time I take the voices inside my head

to record them for outside observation

I wait

 

For the moment someone doesn’t like it

Just to see if it’s going to matter

 

 

The more stories I tell

The less afraid I am

Someone’s disapproval

Is going to silence my crazy

 

I’ve learned

My insanity

Is clay only I get to mold

And if I call it abstract

You can’t tell me if it’s real art

 

So if that basin

Holds me in its depths

Though I rarely see a clear image

I never forget that this body is 75% water

Making my contents undeniably precious

 

Sometimes I can just drink me in

And forget how I look all together