My Eyes Roamed My Face

by Amy Carter

My eyes roamed my face
Well I say my face,
I could see my eyes,
Their dull, grey colour had been translated by the artist’s hand
No longer matt, they sparkled out of the frame,
And my cheeks were alight with a soft glow
I had never seen on my own skin.
I reached out and ran a long finger down my course face,
And the same finger stroked the smooth bumps of my handsome twin.
The crook in his nose was more subtle than mine,
The overhang less obvious
I stared enviously at his nose,
And his lips
So red
Compared to mine,
Which mimicked the colour of peaches.
His smile too,
Was what I wished mine was
Turned up only at the corners;
It did not shout and scream,
But nor did it stare blankly.
I will be remembered like this.
They will gather round in galleries
They will stare at this masterpiece,
They will stare at me.
They will not run their hands over my skin, my hair,
I will be too delicate,
I will be precious,
And I will hide my identity,
Needless they find me,
Find I am not perfect,
I am not handsome,
Needless I be shunned from the museum,
And my beauty no longer marvelled at.
They will never know who I am
They will only guess,
They will only imagine.