my toes are a smidge too crooked
my smile never makes it to the eyes
and droops
after the lips
self-aware that the double chin is right there beneath it
my voice rings like the dull noise of soda cans clanking against the ground
and my hair is never in place
never even
never the right color to complement my porous face
I am a study in asymmetry
my eyes even use their handicap in a camera flash
and my lips are so bitten that I lick my blood while flicking my crooked bottom teeth

I am all flaws and tears and screams and yet all part of this Byzantine scheme
A woman, fragmented bits of conjoined flesh, reflecting light bouncing off a mirror
onto a page