These glasses make my eyes itch,
As they adjust to the new lenses through which they see
When I close them,
My eyelashes resist their re-opening.
My hair is messy and uncomfortable,
Damp at the nape from warm sweat
It curls in every direction but the one I want – it hangs
In curving whorls in front of my eyes.
Oh, how I want to chop it off
The hands which tuck stray frizz back
Behind my ears, bring memories of crooked
Of other hands which press against my own,
Large and warm and calloused.
Of dainty fingers that move with dainty flicks of wrists
– Not mine, they could never be –
Oh, sometimes how I wish,
I could just slip off a body like a mask;
Choose a new one every day
In accordance of my mood.
I wish this
More than you will ever know
I was going through my drafts and came across this, which was titled and sounded like it might contain something interesting. Instead, I got a blank page, with the title. So I decided to write a poem for it. I’m not quite sure about what came out, but I think it kind of suits its name.