Photogenic

I hate photos of me.
long-shots, close-ups, freeze-framed red spots
I hate photos of me.

Is it just frumpy paranoia
or expectant desire -
to be stunning in a
flash?

How can the camera never lie
if it never knew the truth?
how can it capture
the oldness of my youth?

Photos have no imagination
Just focussed fixations
of an exterior me
that I don't recognize

No, the camera absorbs my
light, my presence,
compresses , my depth and my beauty
and spits out a photograph.