My first instinct is to stop,
and think if I’m being
too vain.
If my narcissism is intact.
Yes, there it is.
Right under my shirt,
in my heart.
Descriptors and qualifiers,
Pictures and images,
A physical manifestation.
I am a round object,
with lines for legs and arms.
A large round oval for a head.
I am teeth, I am eyes,
I am hair.
I am skin.
Some days it all crawls,
some days it is quite still.
My face is a face,
but what goes behind it?
As I peel it back for you.
We are the same, you see.
Does it matter
what I look like
on the outside?
Why don’t you
describe yourself to me,
you
who can’t see.
