Mona Lisa

My back rests comfortably on my wooden bed frame

My eyes fixate on my portrait

It’s my Mona Lisa, framed in clear glass and silver sides

Life’s made me older

My smile is rarely formed

And, yet, only I can see mine in my portrait

My mother would complain of the lack of teeth shown

She yells for it every time I take a picture

But I wasn’t born to be fake

So, when I look at my portrait, I feel serene

Because I see the real me staring back at me