A Photograph
She asked me for a photograph
Where I smile, I said, I do not have.
She thought I was hiding a defect,
And you know ain’t nobody perfect.
I don’t know how to smile,
In every picture, I’m in exile.
I feel invisible, not worthwhile,
They deny me like a ghost, for I couldn’t smile.
I’ve got lips which widen down,
And my smile looks to you like a frown.
So I just pretend to look like a stone,
In every photograph, I look a man unknown.
My insecurities laugh at me when I pose,
For a second, in that click, my anxiety grows.
I never learnt to stand still in time,
And these lenses may shoot at me for the crime.
So can you take your plastic camera out,
And draw yourself a serene ground.
Just over the cliff, across the spring jets,
Imagine me smiling, happily at the sunset.
Go make yourself a photograph and laugh at me, please.
© arriqaaq 2019
This story was published in The Cotton Thread — weaving life with words. If you want to be a writer in our publication, click here
Thank you for reading, I appreciate your time! Part of my poetry course is to write something often. Getting somewhere with it.
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