Do you still think I look like Kimya Dawson?
You said I looked just like her
and I can’t tell if it’s because
we share the same shade of skin or
because of my curly hair or
just because I really do look like her reflection.
I’ve typed her name into a search box millions of
times just to see what you saw that day in my
concrete walled dorm room, cluttered but still empty
like me when I think of you now.
The comment might’ve been racist.
It might’ve been full of a kind of disgust
that I could not piece together at seventeen.
A hate that I still wonder about at twenty.
It might’ve been that you did not see the
features that only stick to my skin and
wander around in my hair,
on my fingertips,
and on my toes.
Like the tiny brown seed freckles on my cheeks and my hooded eyelids.
Like my broad shoulders and murderous thick thighs.
Like my nearly flat feet or my charming chubby cheeks.
Like the risen scar from my stitches or the dark brown burns from cooking.
Like my chewed off nails and my three gorgeous tattoos.
Like me.
After ten months of holding your hand and kissing your lips and calling you
“baby” and “darling”, you still told me that I looked like someone else.
I still wonder, if we had kept in touch,
would you have ever seen me?
Venus Davis is a 20-year-old nonbinary writer from Cleveland, Ohio. They are currently a poetry reader for Random Sample Review. Venus is also working on writing a poetry chapbook inspired by astrology. Follow their twitter for more memes, rants, and the occasional poem: @venusbeanus.