Book of Poetry

Zit-Picking

I can't identify a white-head from a black-head.
I don't know what a core is.
Y'all are the experts,
And it seems that you adore zits.
Picking, picking.
Is that a mirror?
Let me look at my face.
I check it from seven different angles
To attack any zits blossoming in place.
Stop bringing your fingers near me!
I just want to live in peace!
But your horrible digits of disaster just won't leave me be!
You're terrifying my children who are only barely breaking the surface.
Just stay away, be nice for once, stop picking at us as a service.