My eyeliner is between a scribble and a scrawl. A child's template was used. And found ineffective. My slanted eyes are uncooperative; they are bulging, flat and exact. There is no glimmer that would stop a man in the street from staring at me. I rub at the mistakes with my fingers and uneven nails before the paint has fully dried into the crevices of my creases. It's splotchy and red and bruised. But, it's done the job.

After all, there's a fresh canvas.