You Made My Identity a Form of Dysmorphia

by Anonymous

Eyes are coffee, neglecting the sugar, Bitter and bruised shades of earth. Copper drizzled in honey, glimmering in burnt sunlight, My confidence is glass at the foot of the stairs.

Hair is cedar ash, smoldering in a firepit, Fallen pine needles, burnt leaves, colors of lifelessness. Color leached from wood, dry-rotted barns along the interstate, My hopes are kintsugi without the gold.

Skin made of sand and porcelain, heralding winter snows, Rose along the cheekbones, A painting of scarred constellations, stories on skin, My dreams hobbling, crippled.

A tank made of flesh, Strong shoulders, strong spine, heels to floor. Curves without the appeal, masculinity in a dress, My heart an outcast in the rain.