I am a catalog of genes, and someone lost the index.

Blue eyes, brown hair(not too long, thick, dense) hips

and thighs for running short distances, a laugh that

someone says is like an aunt, a smile that was braced in,

a nose straight, soft, long lashes, mesomorphic basic

amalgation of genes messily slotted and categorized

a pinch of this and that, a mouth that talks and a smile

that crinkles the nose and a body I punish for crimes

I committed in grief, in self-pity, and I swallow my pride

and just look at me. Look at the insecurities and

see the pride, the shame, the joy, the grief, the pain.

I am what my mama’s mama made, and yet I am me.