☀ Today's Poem: "Adult Acne" Noah Arhm Choi

Because puberty can be confusing,
god made acne to give you one thing
to be sure to hate, to hide, to blame for the dim lights
and sticky shirts and showers mid-day. They warned me
testosterone could do this. Diabetes. Heart problems.
Anger like a rock inside a clump of snow.
The only time my grandmother touched my mother
was praying over her womb, saying boy boy boy when really
she meant history history history. The only time
she brought her food was the red ginseng, the bitter melon
as if a full mouth always gives you what you want.
Everytime my mother tells my birth story it changes.
A crucifix showing up in a dream, a dream of her boy running
through the field, an altar of ocean rock, mugwort,
one blue shoe. When I arrived and the doctor yelled yeoja,
not a boy, my grandmother walked out of the room.
To arrive then is to let your name be plucked
from a stem while the other leaves die. Grandmother
died without forgiving my mother for never
bearing sons, two years before I look up adult acne
and grindr dates with lights off
and what insurance lets you arrive changed
instead of changing while everyone can see and ask
you stupid questions forgetting they too
have access to google. God was slow to birth
language that could be a mirror
or a car to drive home in, so I arrive late and out
of breath, driving only a little over the speed limit
towards a skyline that could be everything
I’ve ever wanted, everything my mother was afraid to name.