Free Verse: My Skin

Damn you, Rosacea!

Warning: it gets nerdy at the end.

My Skin

Where do I begin
with this angry skin?
My Northern European race
has cursed my face
with epidermis of
epic complaint.
Blotches and bumps
that no warpaint
can disguise.
My eyes
see only pits.
Oh shit –
again, I must choose
between cutting emergency bangs or
living the Cyclops Blues.
And so
I beg reddened skin
to clear and glow.
Why can it not be as calm
as the
Face of Boe?

About oodajunkie's words distract

Don’t bother me – I’m busy cultivating my Tortured Genius persona.
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