My face should be on a withered poster Hanging on one, curved nail on a rotted Wooden lamp post in a dying town Declaring “LOST” The image of me should be younger, The version of me, older Unrecognizable from who I am today Covered in mental scars Like wires across a telephone pole - breakups, divorces, deaths, grief, Self-hate, sadness, healing, back To the beginning again - the face I wear now looks nothing like the boy On that poster “How carefree he looks!” They say, Passing by, seeing the face on the poster, “What a bright boy,” they continue, “What a shame it is he’s missing.” They shake their heads as they walk Yet offer no help in finding myself I know I have to do that on my own - finding yourself is internally written - So as I look into the mirror, I try to find him again The boy I was before I lived, Before I experienced what it means To be human And I see him again, under the scars, Beneath the wrinkles - he’s still there, I find, and, shockingly - He’s smiling