Sometimes I wonder about reincarnation
of my past selves
the experiences that made them beg for my current iteration’s circumstances

I can picture a woman whose beauty turned her into a target
Skin once entirely her own now stained by stranger hands.
And when face to face with Death she falls to her knees and wails,
“Let me be ugly.
Let me be wretched and ugly and finally
safe.”

For a split second I am reminded
to be entirely my own isn’t such a doomed fate
that this mind, this self
has the hope of a lesson learned

so that maybe I won’t lock eyes with Death and plead,
“Let me be beautiful.
Let me be dazzling and beautiful and finally
wanted.”

And maybe Death will smile.