PUNK POETRY: My Secret by Daniel Chan

My Secret

 

I look the best I’ve ever looked, 

not much but certainly something. 

Even my mom says I’m glowing. 

Even my friends want to know 

my skin care regime. 

Tell me your secret, they say. 

Has an enemy of yours 

died perhaps? 

They’re asking a man who sprains his back 

when peeling an orange, who sometimes cannot 

pump the nozzle 

to the shampoo dispenser, who clicks 

his ribs each time he breathes 

too hard. This face, I say, 

wears the skin of an invalid 

which hardship cannot callus 

and can only make bleed.

And then, they laugh, and I laugh along.

It’s the only thing left for me. 

--Daniel Chan