Nose Hairs

She said it with a smile,  

as if every word was harmless,  

a bird she released into the air.  

Criticism disguised as kindness,  

a velvet hammer to the chest.  

"You should clip your nose hairs."  

The sentence hung heavily,  

a cobweb dangling in sunlight.  

My fingers impulsively grazed my nose,  

searching for a betrayal, unseen but told.  

I hadn't expected the ambush,  

no verbal armor pre-prepared,  

no reply that didn't taste bitter.  

I laughed, because people do that  

to fill the space of their unease.  

What is it about being noticed  

in the wrong way, that burns?  

I trace my image for imperfections,  

wondering what else I’ve missed.  

Is my body a map of fault lines?  

Still, here is the complicated kindness:  

That someone looked close enough  

to bother mentioning the smallest thing.  

Not cruelty, but maybe sincerity,  

and maybe that’s the part that stings.