You thought it was bad when
you got your first zit
and the unblemished skin of your youth
erupted like Everest
you thought it was bad when
you got your first stretch-mark
and the smooth thighs and breasts of your growth
betrayed the camouflage
you thought it was bad when
you got your first scar
a thin line of emptiness which they said
the bikini would hide
you thought it was bad when
you sagged and you spun with weight loss and gain
in the span of twelve fevered months
and then it seemed
unimportant
because those scars
the immature loss of vanity and adulation
crying over not fitting into yourself
the lament of sudden change
was less than the stubborn plant of your feet
in survival
and you went to your neighbor
who was missing a breast
both of you shared
the disjointed humor of pain
and you went to your preacher
who had lost his testicle
he joked about being single
and you went to your park
saw women with brain tumors cut out
walking their high energy dogs
and you saw
this silly game of magazines and perfection
of I will stay 20 and flawless forever
of men who would leave when you get cut up and bleed
how it is but part of a bigger picture
that of sweat and guts and fear
and surviving through gritted teeth
even if he left because you were no longer perky and up for it
because you threw up at midnight instead of
giving him head
even if the girl at work could wear heels and short skirts
and you hid your swollen stomach behind swaths of cotton
or couldn’t get out of your bed
because then … just as everything seemed
to be wrinkling and disintegrating and rebuilding
into something unfamiliar and changed and partially incomplete
another man with light in his eyes
who didn’t care about such things
smiled at you as you walked beneath the yawning trees
because your medication said
avoid direct sunlight
and he said
I have the same problem which makes it hard living here doesn’t it?
and you talked and he smiled
and said
I like the way your eyes twinkle
and you said
I get that from my grandmother
even when she was eighty-five she was
proposed to by farmers who thought
she looked like a kind of Katherine Hepburn
and he said
I can see that
red
would you like to meet here tomorrow again?
and you saw the way the world really worked
underneath the adverts for boob jobs and butt lifts
and reality tv that’s nothing of the sort
his hand brushed yours and you saw
sunspots on both
it made you laugh
a little like a hiccuping hyena
and he laughed too
the survivors
beneath the canopy of life
snorting like five-year olds
as skinny joggers with air-brush tans ran past
with sad empty looks
for what they did not
yet know
TheFeatheredSleep 