Down Deep
i always wanted to be one of the girls.
i always thought this sentiment was anathema.
i still want to be one of the girls.
i never knew this sentiment was my reality since time knows when.
i can feel layers of conditioning dripping from my face, distorting
and contorting my silhouette, as if
i had built myself up to be a replica mannequin made of wax
on display at a wax museum, but
i never built myself up that way.
i assumed many things to my own detriment; these assumptions
came about when
i tried to make sense of my taxonomic make up, thinking that what
i saw was truly me, but as the heat turns up in this exhibition
i keep feeling tears of burning wax brim down my face.
is it my face?
what is a face?
i never thought it would come to this.
i thought
i knew everything, or at least, enough
to get by without being naive, but ironically,
i've been naive about myself and who
i am deep down