My mouth is twisted behind this soft poly-cotton fiber

with little mustaches across it

bent at the corners trying to hold up the loosely fitting fabric

 on the bridge of my nose

It’s oddly satisfying worrying about the itch that just won’t go away

Instead of watching the brokenness so willing to be in the limelight

The brokenness that is me

My eyes are smiling


This poem is about: 
Our world


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