Nose

Nose

Atop the steel piercing table, in an attempt to redefine what “mom” means, a cacophony of junior high comments reverberate:

why’s your nose so big? did you break your nose? you look like a parrot. are you jewish? have you ever thought about asking for a nose job? I knew a girl who got one for her sixteenth birthday, you should ask your mom. why don’t you try to break it so you can get it smaller? you know your nose is crooked, right? maybe if you turn your head a little bit it won’t look so crooked all of the time. why is one nostril smaller than the other? don’t you worry about kissing? does it get in the way when you make out? has anyone ever told you should get a nose job? it’s just so big!

I shake off the juvenile hurt, reclaim it, transform the ridicule into an accessory. A gold hoop shines on the crooked crux of my big nose, an ornament of self love and confidence. Quietly whispering, “Fuck you.”