How should I hold my face?

How should I hold my face? Should I brush my
hair? Wear a yellow ribbon as a noose
around my neck. Should I smile just in case
you see me standing there. How would that look?
How little I care –

- about what they think
of me, yet how much I have to care. For
your sake I must show my bones, parade my
grief, wear the hurt like a bridesmaid’s dress of
yellow frills. Clutch the bouquet of pink eared
pain that no longer smells of you. I can
not smile. I will not cry. How will that look?
How little I care –

- for flashbulb fury.
Yet how much I have to care. For your sake
I will stand naked before them and cut
my flesh into ribbons, so they can stare
at the gaping hole inside of me. I
will harvest their pity. How will I look?
How little I care –

- about my skin. Yet
how much I have to care. For your sake I
must put on clean clothes and wash my face. Walk
into the limelight, over and over.
Tell them something new, keep the story fresh
Don’t let it slip down the page. And then I
return to this numbing still, curl up small,
until tomorrow, until the next time
until you are home.