Acne and I have had quite a journey together. We were close throughout high school, but then it disappeared. For a couple years, I had time to grow, explore, and figure out who I am as a person.
Recently, it's been wanting to insert itself back into my life and pretend like nothing has changed. I have a lot of mixed feelings about this, most of them circulating around the thought of get off of my face.
Alas, acne is not respecting my wishes. Like an eight-year-old with an iPhone, it keeps running around, doing its thing, seemingly impervious to the horrified looks from onlookers. So I thought I’d try communicating again in an ode.
Oh acne, my acne,
Why must you appear?
Upon my chin and my forehead—you’re all over in the mirror.
You scatter my jawline, you pepper my nose.
You think my face is perfect real estate—
Why? No one knows.
You pop up before dates,
You stay present for parties.
Your insistence on staying makes me quite haughty.
I’ve tried soap, I’ve tried cream,
I’ve tried everything in between.
Despite all my efforts, all I see is peeling.
(Which frankly I find just plain mean.)
Enough—I’ve had it.
Gone, whitehead!
Gone, blackhead!
Out, pimples and zits!
I’m no longer a teenager;
I shouldn’t have to deal with this! Why—?
Oh.
Hormones, you say?
Gets worse once a month?
…
Oh acne, my acne—
I see you’re here to stay.
Much as that pains me,
I’ll have to learn to love my face either way.
Meddlesome as it is, it’s just acne. We’ve all had to deal with it at some point.
I invite you on to the train of self-acceptance and encourage you to write an ode to your acne. Or to name your zits. (Hey, Tina! *Waves.*)
