Just a phase,
so they say.
A smile looks like a frown,
from this angle to which I receive.
Oh, but the eyes! The eyes!
How they do deceive!
Which way up?
Which way down?
Perception is always slanted.
Moving left, moving right,
to whichever direction the head is planted.
And as for me,
the breeze tickles my barren feet.
While on the top of my head,
I feel the hard concrete.
These strangers, they stop, giggle, and stare,
seemingly amused by my despair.
While they’ve come from miles and miles,
all I can wonder is if my frown looks like a smile.
One day maybe they will see,
that dysmorphopsia got the best of me.
Until then I’m hopelessly wound (wownd).