Did I steal your face or did you give it to me?
All I know is your skin is quite fond of my skull,
and I have defiled your face
by adding pieces from the man you hate most in this world:
I replaced your straight nose with his Roman one,
and muddied your fair colors with his darkness.
But the worst marks don't come from him. They come from me.
For I have twisted your features into something new,
I scarred your chin with my recklessness,
I filled your mouth with my words,
I turned your eyes away from the past and to the future.
Sometimes I wonder,
if I carved this face out with a scalpel,
and offered to return it,
would you want it back?
Oh, mother, would you even recognize it?