I’m forced to look at it every day.
“You’re still there.”
I hear it and I know it.
But it doesn’t stop me from wishing that the face was normal.
My face doesn’t keep me from being ME.
But it keeps me from looking like me.
There are times that it doesn’t bother me.
I’m grateful, and I know I should be, that I’m here to complain.
Then I see the pictures of happier days. Smiling. Laughing. Yukking it up.
When I didn’t feel ugly.
Those are days when I feel the face.
Down to my toes.