I’m standing there. Looking in the mirror.
Trying to reconcile the fact
I will never be as beautiful as a fish.

Words are hard.
Make up is harder.
I’m attempting to apply eyeliner. Straight.
My eyes are growing big and my skin is
turning scaly, making it near impossible for an even foundation.
I forget about the eyeliner.
**** it.

You had said something about being the right shade of blue.
You and Karen talked about it in front of the infinite binary tree.
You tried to explain to me the concept,
shades of blue defining us
colors that blend, people that blend
what shade are you?
I didn’t get it.
Still don’t.
I have a slow metabolism.

I look down at my dress.
It’s something like cerulean.
I wonder if it’s an acceptable hue.
Now it’s royal,
robin’s egg.
Suddenly, fuscia.
The fabric feels like water,
it ripples up my torso.

Back to the fish thing-
my neck is turning gilled.
The waves are getting bigger now.
Maybe I’ll go under soon,
fully under water,
be beautiful enough for a trout.

I can hear the ocean in the pipes.
I am ugly land bound.
I am diving down my faucet.