Visible

In the fluorescent light it's darker.

At home it's just a stain I've learned

to live with, something the mirror shows

when I'm not braced for it.

But I saw the stranger's eyes.

Or maybe I imagined it—

the way they stuck on my neck,

the way their gaze slid down

like they'd caught me doing something.

I kept my hand down.

I kept my collar up the rest of the day.

A birthmark is just a thing

you can't apologize away,

just a place where your body

decided to stay.