Life of Spice

i am the way i am and here's why

where you see a smiling face,

im reminded of a father who laughed at his own jokes

where my skin is a normal brown now but,

im reminded of the time i was told

id be alone forever

my eyes look so tired but

you don't see its because of the darkness around them

nights of wake to contemplate if i should tell my mom

that dad had 4, not 3 packs of cigs in his right pocket today

she already could smell it so what's the point

ill just write it down so it stops eating away at me

back to my eyes and the deep caves under them,

i hate taking pictures

my mother looks like a sister

my mother. looks. like a sister

she has deep caves too

but at least she's fair

let's talk about my nails

14 years of damage done

irreversible, unhealthy size

you always asked me why i did this

well at least i wasn't smoking

or throwing plates at the wall.

after i left home and you couldn't hit me for the biting

i had nothing to run away from but myself in the mirror

so you won't see the 14 years now

because kiss brand press-ons were easy to figure out

and we'll end on my hair for now

there's far too much here

it never was my own according to mother

she put her blood, sweat, and tears into it

god forbid i chop it all off

well, i did

i couldn't stand it falling out, thinning

getting rougher in texture, curlier in nature

because i work and then my brain works overtime

it all meant im becoming what mother compared me to

so i chopped it

let's hope i get married

my therapist told me,

"i make sense"

i don't want to look like father

nor have the blemishes from mother

so look at me and you'll see me

but i look at me and see everything im not

Reflection

"you don't see" is perhaps my most vulnerable poem, a raw inventory of insecurities and inherited trauma. It's written as a direct address to an unnamed "you"—perhaps a lover, friend, or therapist—explaining why the speaker is the way they are by cataloging the invisible wounds that shape their self-perception.

The poem moves systematically through different parts of the body—face, skin, eyes, nails, hair—but each physical feature becomes a doorway into deeper emotional territory. The tired eyes aren't just from lack of sleep, but from "nights of wake to contemplate" whether to protect or expose a parent's addiction. The bitten nails represent 14 years of anxiety and self-harm as a coping mechanism.

The hair section is particularly powerful, exploring how even our most personal choices about our bodies can become battlegrounds with family expectations. "it never was my own according to mother" captures the way children, especially daughters, can feel like their bodies belong to their families rather than themselves.

The poem ends with a devastating contradiction: "so look at me and you'll see me / but i look at me and see everything im not." This captures the fundamental disconnect between how others perceive us and how we see ourselves when we're carrying invisible trauma. The therapist's validation that "i make sense" offers a small glimmer of hope—that perhaps these reactions and insecurities are reasonable responses to unreasonable circumstances.