Looking in the mirror, she thought,
‘It’s okay not to be devastating, isn’t it?’
for if I were so, then how would I determine whose intentions were genuine, and who simply wanted a slice of my beauty?
‘It’s okay to be average, with nice skin, bright eyes but a touch of ageing on my forehead, isn’t it?’
Maybe when he calls me stunning, he means it
because he sees something the others do not;
But if I were devastating, I’d know he were telling the truth -
do the semi-pretty girls owe him something, for seeing in their faces something that the magazines just never will?
Looking in the mirror, she thought
that she would never know the answers,
always tiptoeing through life, wondering if the man staring at her on the subway wanted to take her home and unclip her bra (new, pink, Victoria’s Secret), or if instead he wished her cheekbones higher,
Her smile more seductive,
Her breasts rounder,
Her shoulders straighter,
as she so often wished herself.
‘Another coat of mascara it is, then,’
she whispered through lips she’d never see as full enough,
with eyes she’d dulled the sparkle of.