The camera focuses in on different parts of the body, clothed and unclothed, throughout the poem. People of all genders, ages and body types appear on the screen and the camera places specific emphasis on the unique details of each body.
Who are you?
Look, why doesn’t my face suit me?
Nothing lines up quite right
My cheeks push out too far and my lips aren’t central
I’m like socks not quite pulled up, crinkled at the ankle.
Why doesn’t my dermis match my epidermis?
And my epidermis match my blood?
I am pink and speckled brown
I’m like the torn wrapping from forgotten presents.
My wrinkles make maps across my body
But there is no end and there is nowhere to turn around
Each line breaks and clusters and makes me queasy
The bruises on my arms are foreign and deep
Unknown and undesired
Not because they hurt, but because they don’t
I blush when I’m nervous
I blush when I’m excited
I blush when I’m angry
I blush when I sleep
I’m like the dregs of beer left out in the sun.
Nobody I know