The Silhouette Of A Dying Star

I hide under these pages

cover my chest with words

cut my hair with sharp metaphors

change my name through poetry.

I only exist truly through similes

for I face misconception with

daily language, not my usual

unbridled haikus.

I see myself in the mirror

and see not the daughter 

my parents are proud of

but an aching, gaping silhouette

I can't make out the shape of.

I’m unsettled by my own voice

by the way my body looks recently

by the way people call me

and the way my name feels detached.

It’s drowning out my laughter

making my poems full of ache

but it’s not something I can change

without putting a bullseye

on my forehead.

I crave acceptance

I hunger for love

because I cannot control this

who would wish such ache

upon themselves?

The way sea foam marks the waves

I fear someone will notice

The salt in the ocean I am

And start to wonder

If I’m truly who I say to be.