My Face

My face has mountains

and Valleys, lush, life

giving terrain.

Seeds latent, waiting for rain.

 

You come to me, speaking

in languages that I don’t understand

until I feel them.

But those are just stories I hear.

 

First I must be silent inside.

 

We must slice, from my temple down.

On either side.

Take off my face completely.

 

My nose, you see…

May lead me, to like, to want, to anticipate and salivate

at the prospect of the pleasure of dancing.

This we don’t want.

 

My lips may form a channel of moisture that can contribute

to a miniature lake of

spent desire.

We don’t want that either.

 

The mouth; the greatest offender.

It may consent to be fed, to be watered.

Alow an intruder to climb in and till it.

Should I allow it?

That, we really don’t want.

 

I am a child, yes.

But what goes on in my mind, may blind me from morals

that should be enshrined

so cut out my mouth,

lest I feel inclined,

to speak freely,

words that are babies.

 

You see, my words,

are babies.

Either fully formed, or merely conceptual.

So cut out my mouth,

as regular childbirth is not enough of a hurdle.

Though, I’ve heard, the scar tissue may kill my first-born.

Or if I’m lucky, ensure that my colon is torn.

Cut out my mouth,

so my father can feel warm,

in the knowledge that he sired a true woman.

 

Remove my face from me

I should not see, I should not breathe.

Remove my face completely.

I should never have the chance to speak freely.

I have no value, as God made me, functionally,

responsive with flexibility.

To let mother nature have her way with my body,

would mean,

endless shame to my family.

 

So Please. Cut out my face.

 

So I can be…

Happy.