I stand in front of a square of mirror each morning carefully
applying the paint of an urban female warrior. This is what
I do, this is what I am trained for. Each brush is skillfully
used to embellish every facial feature to perfection. Swirling
colors to blend so you cannot tell where one stops and one
begins. My face a daily canvas to be remade to reflect sexy,
charming, in control.
Golden strands of hair fall around my face in soft flowing
waves. All in place designed to be stared at; to be touched.
Matching clothing flattering just the right curves of the
body.. coordinated handbag and shoes with not a speck of
dirt on them. Which sunglasses to wear, to tie a pretty bow
on the package?
A quick look in the mirror to ensure all is right. Pretty girl
staring back with empty eyes. I look away for fear of
confronting the truth.
Inside a slow scream starts to form.. pushing it’s way up,
wanting to be set free. Push it back down, it cannot escape,
there is no time for dwelling on what should be.
Echos haunt my mind, “you’re such a pretty girl” ; “how can
you be sad, you’re so pretty”; “you have it made, your so
pretty”; “we like being around you, YOU’RE SO…
SHUT UP!! I cannot talk to you now, I have beauty to throw
around, tell your lines to somebody else. They mean nothing
Look into my lifeless eyes and tell me how pretty I am once
you really see me. Tell me how pretty I am now that you
know the truth, now that you see reflections of beauty in me.