I was taken, cracked like an egg
I fondle a furrow, thinking
did this come from then?
and a reality I was told later
something, assuredly, that couldn’t be<
No. No one examined me
only a false memory, a child’s make- believe
My imagination, even then
conspiring against me
with a vision of unpleasantries
one where I questioned
what the fuck was wrong with me
unnaturally, a rare and curious oddity
that didn’t break: it snapped and stretched
and years later, unchanged by time
this awkward thing on my mind
that I took myself there, alone
I later drove myself home
bleeding on the seat.
An explanation of sorts
so that the audience should not mistake
the selfie, the vanity,
the Look at Me
for anything other than an attempt to save
the memory of my face,
while it still holds the shape
of my fading youth.
Indeed, once it is gone, it is gone
and I’m sure it won’t be long
until it escapes me completely.
So this is me, desperately
recording every picture
of this very moment in time
here, I wanted the world to see
that I was once pretty.
