To Men with Love

How do we know if we’re beautiful

When all the faces stare but

They don’t look us in the eye

I wonder if my photograph

Is a lie

To everyone but me

And my mother

I wonder if my nose looks strange

From another angle

The way it looked when I walked past

That dark glass window yesterday

I can’t help but wonder who thinks

About the color of my eyes

Or the way my hair looks in the sun

At your favorite time of day

Does anyone notice the shape

Of my lips

Or my hands when they’re curled

Around a book

Or each other

Or someone else’s hips

Does anyone see them

And want to hold them in their own hands

The way you used to hold them

Like the way we used to laugh

Back then

When I thought I knew how I looked

I have to admit that now

Sometimes

I feel like last week’s magazine

A turn of the page

You brush my corners

Nothing else

All empty space and pieces of words

But I wonder who still hears my voice

And likes the way it sounds

And likes it by choice

I wonder who wants me to rest when

I’m tired

When my eyes are heavy and deep

Like wounds

Like wells

Who wants to sit beside me

And close them

And watch me float away

On the heaving swells of a dream

I wonder who wants to know

My sleeping face

The way that I know yours

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