Pink Peonies

Logan Zelenak

Pink Peonies

They may laugh at my face

but what they don’t know is

the bumps on my chin

are pink clouds cascading over a golden sunset.

My scar runs mountain ranges

deep into my soul

and as wide and glorious

as the Appalachians.

Their rosy ridges

paint maps like valleys

and tell stories

with rushing river waters.

They may laugh

but they haven’t climbed my mountain

They haven’t had to map loose terrains

of illness and injustices

and pointed fingers

and people afraid to touch you

because you look different than them.

They haven’t waded through

rushing river waters alone

because no one knows what to say

when words haven’t hurt you in this way

And you haven’t had to turn your face

into a glorious mountain range.

So I will tell them now

I am a pink sunset

I am a crimson valley

My scars are the red roots

of pink peonies

amongst a field of wildflowers.

I will use my map

to travel to the moon and back

until I can learn to say

I love myself.

The Story Behind the Poem

My name is Logan Zelenak and I was born with a fast flow vascular anomaly in my left mandible. When I was nine I acquired a long scar from surgery ranging from the top of my left ear to the bottom of my neck. I’ve come a long way with accepting my facial difference, but like anyone would, I’ve had my fair share of bumps along the way.

I wrote this poem, Pink Peonies, a little over a year and a half ago. I was attending this weekly small group that I really enjoyed going to. One day two new women joined the group and I began to notice them whispering and pointing at me. The whispering grew into laughing and I could hear them talk about my facial difference.

Immediately I felt like I was in middle school again. People would think this behavior stops in childhood, but I’ve had countless experiences like this as an adult. It always makes me feel so small.

The space I was in for this group used to be a safe space for me. But these women’s reaction to my face made me feel different, unwanted, unwelcome.

At this time in my life, I was struggling with accepting my facial difference. I didn’t know about FEI and I didn’t know about many other people like me.

One of the last nights I went to this small group, the women were laughing at me again. It brought me to tears on the car ride home. Then I looked up at the sunset as I parked in front of my apartment. It was simply breath-taking and the pink clouds were cascading over a golden sunset.

That night I decided to turn my facial difference into something beautiful. A pink sunset. A crimson valley. My scars are the red roots of pink peonies amongst a field of wildflowers. It dawned on me that I get to decide what my facial difference means to me – not others. I wrote this poem that night. And I’m grateful to say that I have traveled to the moon and back and I can say I love my facial difference today. My scars are a map of where I’ve been and have yet to go. My face and my scar are a wonderful, unique masterpiece – and I can’t see it any other way now.

Read more of our blogs here.