expecting myself to defy expectations, I am
rarely content with the effort it takes
to polish this skin, tighten the silhouette, push
and pull my features into beauty--
in my natural state, covered in dye and ink
and mosquito bites and scars-- I cannot content myself
with solely an improved appearance.
I aim higher than your skin, higher than
your dick or your heart or your mouth.
bring me that mind, let me perch on the edge
of your reflecting pool, singing
and preening, let me find myself in
the quiet hours in this copse of trees.
when I find myself in your thoughts and have not
put myself there through art or artifice,
I may choose to be content at last.