bittersweet recollections of your adolescence // 2019 poetry collection

sonnet

"if a man writes you a sonnet, he loves you. if he writes you a thousand sonnets — he loves sonnets."

i have never written myself a sonnet.

does that mean i do not love myself?

i question it like a too-aware robot

picking at pieces of hardware

below millimeters of artificial skin.

i step up too-close to my mirror

and dissect the reflection.

see,

dark brown body hair

climbing up my arms and legs like vines to be trimmed.

see,

jagged edges of my teeth

mismatched eyes

layers of fat tucked under a thick sweater.

tug the sleeves down over my too-small hands.

do i not love myself?

watch the disappointed purse of my lips.

somewhere, someone is looking at me

and they are not too-close

and they are not a mirror.

i am brand new and far away—

a mystery.

i've written plenty of sonnets about mysteries

but maybe there is more to me than i realize.

maybe a little bit of mystery can be dug up

from under the jagged edges of my teeth

and the body hair that claims me like vines

wrapped around an aging home.

maybe i can write myself a sonnet

about the stretch marks on my thighs

and the way i hold more mysteries than the universe

just behind my mismatched eyes.