The Seventh Place

It’s the first day of seventh grade. I’ve flayed my skin with beaked nails and benzoyl peroxide, applied two snow coats of deodorant, clicked on a few sprays of peony body mist, and used my mom’s concealer that darkens my blemishes in tan dots around my rosy face. No one tells me I have the color wrong. No one tells me I have pimples, either.

We get our yearbooks. My picture is printed in shiny gloss, and I see my splotchy half-mom face. Google shows me “How to Identify Your Skin’s Undertone,” and I examine the blue wirey veins inside my wrist. Am I golden, am I cold, am I neutral? It’s the last day of seventh grade. I don’t know what my face looks like. I don’t know which color to use to hide it. 

Poem by Haley Sharp

Image by Adam Strong

Haley Sharp was born and raised on the island of Kaua’i, Hawai’i. She is currently finishing her undergraduate degree at Whitman College. This is her first publication. Find her on Instagram @hhaleysharp

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s