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.*)