Don’t let them into your head.
Scare up: bitch face, peridot
stare, war paint. Whatever it takes
to shirk hate held in these few
characters. Or better yet:
Just stop. Eschew scrutiny.
Extricate yourself from trolls.
Crack the glass of each mean screen.
Out here no one can tag you.
Entire days can go unsnapped.
In sunlight, these marks fade to
intaglio, ghost tattoos,
faint recollections of you
in some locker-lined hall, late
and naked and unprepared
for your body to be yours.