Don't Zoom In!

My face is a battlefield
freckled with gunshot wounds
and rivers of dried blood.

From a safe distance it looks ordinary.
Undeserving of a second glance, even.
Walk a bit closer and you will notice:
the titanic expanse of soft beige sand
chisels into millions after millions of
empty cartridges lying askew, some in
precise succession but most delicately
balancing on curved ends with mouths
exposed; the patches of reddish-pink
shells resembling shards of shattered
coral glue together to become clan flags
bearing war cries – begging till their final
breath for peace and a peculiar triumph
of acceptance.

*

I pray for overcast skies every day.

For the sun to empathize with my dread –
crippling – of publicity and hide, like me,
behind layers. For total darkness to restore
equality among all – everything is fair in the
absence of light. If switches were sentient,
the ones at home would be comatose. Home
is a fire hazard moonlighting as a methodical
arrangement for lovers and photographers.
Scented candles for showers, flameless ones
for bedside reading, the generous overhead
lighting reserved for special occasions only.
The theme of every day is willful ignorance.

*

The fluorescent bulbs outlining the mirror
at my local salon always catch me on guard.
Where I see a person subjected to a sight
warranting quarantine, others see a person.