my bathroom sink a reimagined interrogation table:
I’m playing bad cop, worse cop, panic and attack cop
blinding my newest breakout, going,
"Where were you last night?"
as if I hadn't spent my life watching over
my face like some kind of crime district
a morning massacre on my forehead every other day
I want to wear a blindfold of yellow tape
I want some goddamn answers! from every clogged pore on my face
punching the faucet with my for-profit fist of justice
exfoliate dysmorphia with intimidation tactics
scowling at my face, because nothing else is working:
playing frown cop, clot cop, obsessive and compulsive cop
botched cop, crop cop, inhale hard and exhale cop
cog cop, crow cop, fester and fermented cop
tremble cop, trauma cop, cotton mouth and dry eye cop
torture cop, tortured cop, ring around and rosy cop
acid cop, basic cop, lather all the lotion cop
nausea cop, blindness cop, squeeze shut eyes and point the glock
cop, circle cop, donut spin how do I stop—
______
Steven C. Wright is a queer poet and prose author from Edison, New Jersey. His work has appeared in Frontier Poetry, Serotonin Press, BRAWL, and elsewhere. He can be found on Twitter/Instagram @stevencwright_ and Bluesky @stevencw.bsky.social.
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