Let’s have a bash at a snow poem

Most popular moisturisers
make my beard flaky.
At 6 foot 4,
when I try to fit in my white bath,
I look like a rejected angel
crash landed after being pushed.
Vitiligo melts me in the sun.
No amount of bicep curls
make my twig arms thicker.
But I like the smell of roasted carrots
on a Sunday
and the wide eyes of a snowball
desperate to grow.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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