Zit

This is a freeverse/spoken word poem i have been working on. Its called Zit.



In the split second that you sat down I noticed it was there. A spot so discrete that by covering it you made it more obvious to me. Sploched on the side of your face as if to say:LOOK AT ME! I wouldn’t have cared if you had just left it there. It just seems a little bit unfair. In what sense you say? In the sense that sitting by a woman so fine, in all its meanings, I look like a pig in his slop. And you have the audacity to try to be cleaning it up? Who told you that was there? Was it your mother, father, brother, sister, lover or just some random mirror. Did it surprise you that there is something on your face that resembles the food you eat to the extent that for a moment you said, ill never eat that again! But ordered it for breakfast this morning. Don’t feel embarrassed, im just pointing out what you hoped noone would see! You obviously pushed it, and tried to pop it, or it would not have looked like your face fell into a giant pot of crawfish. Yes, its that bad! Do you feel so bad now that you worked so hard to make sure people cant see what you have? Its no disease, though it might look like it, in your face or in your cheeks, but its in your mind that I see the zit, that believe you me, has been ready for years, but you just cant seem to pop it. Oozing out all of this society that’s taught you that you can only be free by looking good and trim like that new tree outside your window. But when you want to sit in the shade and read a book, why do you think you always choose the old oak, that im sure will fall soon, and bust up my house. There is something in all of us, you see, whether or not we believe we need to look perfect all the time, there is always something more we chose to hide. honestly, there is nothing on your face.