Untitled #2
A poem.
There shouldn’t be
another
portrait of me.
my self
composed,
outlined,
in smudged
monochromatic
beige-grey pastel,
my wispy contours
slathered and smeared
by two
omniscient thumbs
part of
my self
embedded
in their prints
my legacy
solidified
in one avenue,
shedding my skin
and finding
refuge
in those prints’
snow-white crevices
Yes, there is
another
portrait of me.
It is yours.
Select
Your framing
wisely.
