Freckled

My gaze is set forward
on the quicksilver-brushed glass
as I examine
every mountain
and valley
of the lightly freckled porcelain skin painted on my face;
I come to a standstill
in my distorted monologue,
scolding
and then correcting myself that
I’m more than meets the eye,
I’m more than I say I am,
brushing away
scratches and wounds
left upon my psyche
from my own un-manicured nails,
realizing
the subtle
unparalleled
structure of the world,
of society and government
and social cues,
defining curved,
unblemished,
tan beach bodies
to be disproportionately
unnatural
and the basis of
who I am.

This poem is about: 
Me

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