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My face was sold again.

Dissected, scanned, carved from my body.

My neighbor’s Gaping Mouth watched.

Watched me when I ran my thumb across Willow’s cheek

while I kissed him goodbye.

Watched Luke when they told me they regrettably

had been drinking again.

Watched me when I sung myself a song to find my hands

Off-key notes, a naive, childish lyric.

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Sliced off my concerned brow,

shaved clean that new haircut he gave me on the balcony,

scooped out my mother’s eyes,

twisted off my father’s nose,

gathered them and packaged them into

tidy cardboard boxes and sold them to Amazon. So that

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Advertisers, so the

Stockholders, so the

Board, so the

Officers, so the

DHS, so the

Data centers, so the 

Men, so the

Vultures, so they

Know:

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I smile like my grandmother, wide, with eyes just shy of shut.

I cry loudly, but not often, and mostly in the shower.

I pray with my head resting on the stuffed shark Finn gave me.

I wear hoodies with no drawstrings in them.

I pick at the skin just below my fingertips until they bleed.

I hum the song I wrote for my cat when he was still alive.

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In total, it was worth a pint of blood and about 49 dollars.

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