Pimples Braunstein
They line my face like tear drop tattoos commemorating the fallen soldiers I have destroyed. Every piece of fried chicken, every potato chip, every French fry on the memorial of my face as a god damn pimple. And I am embarrassed by my skin, as every blemish is etched into my being for all to see, but then it hits me. It is now time to be Proactive because I have this good clean and clear sound that cannot be accucontained until I am cetaphilled, but I am still embarrassed by my skin. Red dots cover my face like a team of marine snipers saying, “Sir we have the shot,” but they never take it. Little red stars littering the galaxy of my face. Mars is on my forehead next to this moon crater of a scar, the big dipper on my left cheek and Orion’s belt across my upper lip and I can feel a supernova forming on my chin and I am embarrassed by my skin. It’s like acne is a brand new artist and my epidermis is his breakout—single. I stand on stage at a poetry slam and I am embarrassed by my skin. These white heads on my white face and I am embarrassed by my skin. He stands on stage and talks about being handcuffed and charged as black in public and I am embarrassed by my skin. She recites a poem about Africa and how they enslaved her kin and I am embarrassed by my skin. I begin to feel this guilt within as I am embarrassed by my skin. But what you might not know is that I also belong to a tribe.
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Amendment 2013.indd 53
9/10/13 8:36 PM
