Tuesday, February 17, 2015

My Nose

My Nose


I look in 
the bathroom
mirror at 
my nose
and I think
about how
I’d rather it be
a rubber band
that I could pull
into a
beautiful
slim taper
instead of
the stout stump
it is right now
like a sentence
that was cut off
halfway and I think
about how I’d rather
my nose be a scrap
of dough
whose pliable
softness I could
push into
pleasing
Grecian angles
or dignified
Roman corners
instead of the
blundering bluntness
that has always
reminded me
of a clown’s nose
from the time
I first remember
looking in the mirror
at the age of 7
and I think
about how I want
it to be a
perfect
caramel slice
smooth and tan
instead of
what it is now
with its
pepperoni of
red splotches
(clown nose
clown nose
clown nose
I hear me
screaming at
myself sometimes)
and I think about
all of those
crying Asian
soap opera
actresses
who hate their
clown noses
before they get
enough money
to cut their bodies
into shapes
that are as pretty
as everyone else’s
and I think about
how achingly those
TV princesses
with eggshell skin
and powdered eyebrows
wished for noses
that are like rubber
bands or cookie
dough or caramel
slices but I know
somewhere deep inside
beneath this skin
stratum I hate so much
that my nose is none
of those things:
it will always be
my nose.

No comments:

Post a Comment