Bad Angle at the Reception

I was clearing out the cloud, the digital silt,

and there it was—the wedding in July.

I look like a structure that was poorly built,

a chimney leaning toward a heavy sky.

I’m in the background, out of focus, caught

while holding in my breath to look more thin.

My collar’s bunched. I look like I’ve been bought

and sized too small for my own borrowed skin.

My chin is tilted at a jagged slope,

a fleshy hinge I didn't know I had.

I look like I’ve abandoned every hope

of looking decent, which is almost sad,

but mostly just humiliating. I stare

at how my hands are clenched around a glass.

I was so busy trying to be there

that I let my real, ugly self just pass.