In Defense of My Scabs and Scars

In Defense of My Scabs and Scars

My face is pressed to the mirror again.

I climb onto the sink, and with a close eye,

my fingers dance across my broken skin,

scrutinizing each spot of irritation.

I should be out the door, but time flies by

when my face is pressed to the mirror again.

I pinch and squeeze at the swelling pearls within

my flesh. I will make each pore bleed ‘til I’m dry,

so my fingers search along my broken skin.

I focus on a cluster on my chin,

unconsciously scouring, to purify

my face, pressed to the mirror again.

The buildup of sebum and keratin

spills out of my cheek like botflies,

as my fingers dig into my broken skin.

With each release of pressure, an imprint

of my crescent nails remain. My

face is pressed to the mirror again,

and my fingers scratch at my broken skin.