Every morning
I frame my vision
In the demon- like mirror
Through the sun bathed picture
Of a normal girl
I see me and my skin
Through the stencils of convention
I touch me
And I rub my face
I reassemble my hair
And wash myself
Over and over
Till the softness of fabric
Burns against my skin
Do I look any better?
I don’t know
A dab of smelly substances
That claim to transport me
To larger than life posters
I had smeared heavily
Before a hunger- troubled slumber
Blissfully hoping
It would overcome
All my inlaid insecurities
Overnight
But of course
Magic is cooked up
In cauldrons of imagination
I walk out of the door
Tugging at my clothes
With inherent discomfort
Because this angle
And that fold
Makes my facade
......Acceptable
And yet I don’t spare
A single rear view mirror
Or a glass pane
Or even the darkened windows of cars
To reassure that nagging voice
That bullies me in my head
And every time I walk past
Those pretty boots
On skinny legs
Those sleazy skirts
That audacious dress
I tuck my tummy in
And for those few blissful moments
With reality withdrawn
And my skin pulled tight
I replicate every plastic smile
And answer every hollow greeting
With an empty, evasive
“I’m okay”...
On woman's day
To every woman who has a body image issue...
