i don’t flinch as hard when i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror anymore,
i cant help but smile at good things and like the person i see, her face different.
and though i am not skinnier, i am happier, and my hair is longer, fuller, wavy.
i spend precious time combing my fingers through it, adorning it,
with creams and oils, and nice smelling liquids, making sure i fix my bangs.
i put on my clothes, baggy jeans, worn and slightly torn, with a shirt that’s tried and true,
while i put blush on the apples of my cheeks, smiling so they puff up,
and i stare into my eyes, while i apply concealer underneath them, trying my best to look soft,
curling my lashes so they fan up and outwards, tickling my eyelids when i look up,
sweeping on a light layer of mascara, best suited for my eyelashes, strong and enduring,
while finally, i tint my lips with a gloss that was clear but stained pink eventually,
changed but still pretty, still usuable, still desired, still wanted.
later, i wash my face, wipe on toner with a cotton pad, and moisturise, though
sometimes i forget, and occasionally, i break out, pimples erupting,
and for a moment, im 14 again, with a forehead of acne, a hatred for the world,
and for herself, the way she looks, the way her mouth moves, the way her arms flail
awkwardly, all over the place, uncoordinated, while everyone marches on, foot in front of the other.
but i stop, i smile, and i wash my face, wipe on toner with a cotton pad, and moisturise,
my hair dripping wet with conditioner, curl mousse and hair oil, detangled with gentle fingers.
i look in the mirror, and for once i don’t flinch. my lips turn up slightly, and i smile.