I used to hide from a camera; shutter like the lens itself when it was even mentioned; taunting me, mocking me, shining like the sun but the camera was more toxic than the flake of the skin if I stood under it too long. I put my hand in front of it like a shield, hoping the scar wouldn’t be too deep this time when my shield failed me.
I cried when I looked into the mirror, the reflective glass not showing what I wanted to see; not showing the individual I felt like. I cried when someone joined me and tried to point out my flaws like constellations in the night sky. I am no beauty.
Lately, I have been shielding and shuttering less than before and I feel ashamed every time I reflect upon the picture like the mirror itself; the hope of beauty diminished into embarrassment. I see how hollow my eyes are, the scars on my chest and wrist that I thought were so easy to hide, I see the smile I am allowing to be hung; like a painting but it doesn’t cause others to stop and stare in awe. It only does the opposite.
I smile at strangers on the street or when I am walking along a bike trail and when they dart their eyes forward, move quicker, seem uncomfortable, I wonder to myself: is the mouth I dare to open a black hole? Will I suck everything near me inside and chew until the bits are so small that they crawl under my skin? Is that what my smile does to them? Does it haunt them?
I don’t take pictures anymore.