I’ve always had terrible skin.
What’s the lesson here? My destiny lies within?
I am beautiful—if you stand a certain distance away.
No. Back up. There. Do you see me?
A little further. Good. My poetry.
My authentic mom and dad thought taking pills was a disgrace.
My acne only got redder. “Use a good soap! Wash your face!”
I could have ruled high school. I became tall my junior year.
But my acne made me ugly. Guys with smooth skin sensed my fear.
I figured things out when I was drunk. Or when I got mad.
But shyness persisted. I ran to poetry. I remained sad.