My Face

I hate my small face.

I can scrunch it into Michelin-Man-Marshmallow and feign distress.

From faraway, it can disappear from everyone I know; a square peg failing to fit into its circle.

Oh those beautiful circles.

I envy their full baby faces staring back.

The top of a heart drawn on various spaces.

Leaving all sorts of abstraction in their wake.

I want to feel comfortable in my age and dress just as vibrant.

Avoiding all the patronizing glances like I am bike riding around the city until dawn.

Nothing can really hurt you when you are on wheels.

I close my eyes and try to imagine all the privilege,

all the gifts I received for being broken.

The strange unconditional from the internet

to the love I share with you in our gorgeous home.

But its hard sometimes.

When you always feel like you're losing out on something big.

Compensating always for the big black hole in my chest; stomping out the flowers...

bloom a condescending frame all around it.

A messy patchwork of stale choices needle prick constantly.

A fresh mistake or...

twenty-nine straight.