I’m never at ease knowing my face always aesthetically slaving below your gaze. I’m ignorant to the violence in my own eyes, the trauma they’ve endured and the catastrophes they’ve explored all throughout the past thirty years of my life. I forget but it’s out there in the universe for anyone to catch the sensitivity and depth they contain, the softness and love they’ve spoken and witnessed to be rejected – brushed off – deflected – winded down – vomited upon – laughed at – judged – espiegle – spied upon – hated – detested – disliked – or sometimes undifferentiated. My face hangs out there for someone, anyone, to catch a glimpse and see in me what I’ve lived and what I do not know. There’s a susceptible violence on my face – that no mirror justifies or explains – this is the visual fuck-yous that emanate beyond my skin – the retarded bitch face, the rested zoomer petulant full of pimples and scars kind-of visage. This is the aggressivity with which I must go on – my cheeks, my lips and my nose have a duty to be for your eyes only and to bury my selflessness in a myriad of thoughts each voided one by one. Mon visage communicates and I don’t even know the word on the street. But I do know I’m this guy in American X with his teeth biting the concrete just about to be destroyed with a kick on the back of my neck when I sense a sensorial standoff and a Mexican song in the background. I feel. I bleed. I bruise and I envy the merry-goers trademarked and photographed – later – plastered and wasted and washed under layers and layers of cosmetics or filters. I envy the violence they exude because they win. It doesn’t matter what weight, what height, what gender or birthright. They win and that’s just because. My own fight is self-known, self-centered. I’m a master and a slave of beauty – I see it anywhere but in me. I stutter visually every time my reflection follows my shadow. There will never be another me until the day I reach a state of peace with this face. But for now, I fear the ring because up there, in front of you, in front of me, in front of anything that breathes the air of any day I suffocate through the punch of your gaze to my soul. That is how I self-violate my being with my face in the sightings of your eyes.