The story of this poem: I was out in the world and I saw a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, wearing gold under-eye retinol patches that I later found out cost over $100 a pack. Too young. Too expensive. Just not necessary at all, because aging is beautiful and natural. Ugh.
TO THE UNDERAGE GIRL WEARING RETINOL PATCHES ON HER FLAWLESS SKIN Your face is already acceptable. It’s fine just as it is. Kid, keep your mad money for tickets to live shows And gag gifts for your friends. Ask: who would keep you a girl forever, Imprison your face so it ages-never? They’re not someone on your team, on your side. True allies will welcome your growth. Their feedback is unfailingly kind. Remember how it felt before all the ads swooped in? Recall how the fall started: helpful, A forest of reasonable answers, Hands ready with salvation. Whose pleasure is that retinol for, anyway? (Time swept me into its arms: On the day that it caught up to me, I fell, ravished, toward its soft embrace. The years are no enemies of mine.) The door is yielding in every direction, If you would open your clear eyes. The retinol won’t lead to comprehension. It’s here to iron out all your timelines. It’s completely up to you: I’ll keep my thoughts silent, My face serene. But once upon a time, I was a teen like you, And if someone had told this to me, It would have helped to see me through.
Thank you so much for reading my work.
See you next week.
