Cameras Are Liars

Location

Scrolling through my photo stream

all the pictures of myself

they aren’t what they seem

 

Filters left and right

Black and white and bright

All these faces unrecognizable in the harsh bathroom light

 

There’s no selfie in the world to capture my essence

and since there isn’t,

Why do I try?

I look at the mirror and back at my phone and wonder which one lies

 

In one I see myself, every imperfection there

from the bumps on my skin to tufts of unruly black hair.

I also see my lips curled over a gap so wide

thank my genetics, from which I can’t hide

 

I see my true self,

poetry in motion

a beautiful sight to see

In the other, I snap the picture and review it

like, this can’t possibly be me

 

My skin is clear

and I’ve found my angles

but where is my soul

and where are my tangles

where did my chipped tooth go?

Its right here in the mirror

And how does my chubby face appear thinner?

 

The mirror is for my eyes only.

I see me when I see me.

I smile at her, she grins back with reciprocity

 

The camera, on the other hand,

Takes my image and manipulates it til it’s instagram-worthy

The girl in those pictures may not be familiar,

but aint she purdy?

 

Aint no shame in this filter game, baby, please believe me.

But when you see my new avi on twitter, just know you’re not seeing me.

My truth is in my words,

and even those can mislead you

I can’t compress my thoughts into 140 characters

that’s not enough time to teach you.

 

Yet they say a picture’s worth a thousand words

that was a half-lie

A thousand words couldn’t do me justice either,

I know because I tried.

 

I can’t tell you about my cocky little stroll,

it’s indescribably unique

and I can’t tell you about my passions

without stomping my feet

I can’t tell you where I’m from without taking you there

I can’t invite you into my world without giving you a whiff of my hair

 

It’s all deceiving, I admit.

Especially my pictures

You see what I want you to see

So I add a few filters

 

You don’t know who I am,

I can’t capture that on a camera

The only thing you need to know, I’ll go ahead and tell ya

My name is spelled M-a-k-i-a-h

And it is pronounced Muh-Kai-yuh

my soul is not photogenic

and cameras are liars






 

  

This poem is about: 
Me

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