I am beautiful, but only in these moments. When my lips are red and soft and I can taste a battle in my throat. When my eyes are bright and green and there’s a shine to them no one else has earned. When my cheeks are high and glowing and rosy with a blush that is flawless without interference. Yes I am beautiful. Tall and proud and beautiful. But then I step out the door.
The hall is cold and quiet, I turn of the heavily blowing fan and loud music from the bathroom- check up and down so I know that no one heard. The day goes by and I have lost that beautiful. My lips are tooth-worried, my eyes are tired, my cheeks are pale. I am tall- but he says he’d never date someone like that. I am proud- but she says pride is narcissistic and egotistical. I am beautiful- but not anymore.
So here I am again, striving for that beautiful. I brush my hair with tender strokes, moisturize with caresses, push on the fan with gentle ritual, and make myself beautiful once more.
My lips are red and soft. No imperfect skin left from the acid. My eyes are bright and shining. Watering from the force of my heaves. My cheeks are flush and glowing. Blood rush from so long with my head hovering over porcelain.
And I am beautiful again.