something about me is deeply off-putting and nobody will tell me what it is
in the middle of my forehead.
my bangs kind of cover it
but every once in a while a breeze sweeps them to the side
and everyone can see it
they wince and smile painfully
nod and turn away.
sometimes, i try to fix it—
i cut myself or drink a bunch of beer
i paint my lips wide, smile and wave
i straighten my hair or draw my eyeliner on thinner
i laugh and i flatter
but the wound gets larger and larger
oozing pus
scabbing over
and nobody believes me