Random, well-placed marks make you unique. Like a well-chosen word, the mole on the tip of your rounded nose, perfects the sentence of your face. When you were born your face was swollen, squished by my internal organs. Though you cried and screamed every night, your birthmarks faded silently. Through disappearing milia, your singular mole emerged. New moles arrive everyday, dot-by-dot constellations multiplied despite the lotions we spread like glue so the sun won’t stick. But that teeny brown mole on the end of your nose, the one that matches mine, will always be my favorite.
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This poem was written as part of an online poetry class I took a few months ago. I’m slowly going through to revise the poems I wrote there. I’ll probably revisit this one a few more times, but this is my current version.
I’m also still experimenting with how to share poems and the formatting etc. I’m not super pleased with how this looks on the screen, so if you have any tips, I’m all ears!