“You look great.”

Walking up to my weatherproof face
Say, “you look great,”
(With the implied italics on the great.)
My invalidly clear skin,
Such wise wild eyes,
Naturally open up wide,
Wow, you look great!“

Could you spare a surprise?
Shuddering at the danger of such a storm
Surging through my veins like an impulse
Holding back the invisible force
As you to recoiled.

Do you recall the dress I wore that pink afternoon?

How I make lemonade from such a sour fruit?
I don’t think
About my v-neck or recall how I flowed by you
Last time we met.
Unlucky chance as
Circumstances,
Uncomfortable yet innocuous. Maybe
A mall or a supermarket?
In an aisle with its Chia seeds, with its quinoa,
With its turmeric or with its masala, or with its free green tea?
Did you try some new found red fruit
Ubiquitous and misspelled as often as the word misspell.
Say it again:

You look so shocked that we must do lunch.
Face red over the menu
Its dishes unpronounceable.
Those one named joints like Spoon or Fork.
Those restaurants where everything on the list you exclaim and pronounce, expertly.

If it came down to the question of my looks,
Would you reply
Without gratitude:
Why thank you
How graciously
Oh, you’re too kind.
Leave for home alone
And cry.

Or ask me
“why do you ask me?”

As though you were the sick one.
Overrun with a malady,
Melodiously, waltzing to
A “thank you” with a sing song voice,
High and staccato
But sad sad
Ever sad.
Rememorys of quotes,
Remember me?
Reaffirming how strong, how beautiful, how positive?
Stop – the compliments overflow in my former cups.
How good do I really Iook?
Is it true or
The way shock looks good on you?
How good does it look not to be sick?
Not to lose?
I want to win the rights
to own my identity.
The right to keep my hair.
“You kept your hair!
How wonderful.“
I look fabulous.
Would you recoil if I retorted
Or chortled,
Out of some joke at the expense of your boundaries?
Your fence affronted
Laughing nervously
At my acerbic wit.
To whit without bullshit.
You commend me for my strength.

And then worse than all the worlds’ compliments:
“I’ll pray for you.”
As god walks away to hit the drugstore
Along the weathered path home
No kneeling at the counter of
Optimal opioids and malcontents.

So, gaze inside every
mirror
Each shop window along your route.
Let the looking glass take you to the other side.
Take a snapshot of yourself inside
After the infusion.
It’s not permitted by punishment
By law.
By transdermal
By transplant
By subcutaneous injections
By contrast
To you
I do look great.

Tell me what you think.

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