I want to be pretty.
Not in the way magazines do it
where everything is tucked, twisted, tuned and polished
because I am not an ideal.
And I will never be the Mona Lisa
with a coyness that leaves people wondering
what I've smelled, touched, tasted in
every moment of my life,
because I am not a treasure.
I want to be the kind of pretty
where my little sister can see a galaxy of pride in my eyes
and know she's ten times more beautiful
than I could ever be
(or at least she'll know I think so.)
I want to be pretty in the way that
strangers don't know if I'm kind or
powerful or
manipulative
and are timidly curious that maybe I'm all three.
I want to be pretty in the way that
I am all three, and so much more.
I want to be pretty
so that when I'm older
I can be half as beautiful as my mom.
I want to be pretty so that
my friends see honesty in the corners of my eyes
and security in my fingertips
and hold my gaze with evenness as my equals.
I want to be pretty,
the kind of pretty where you bring me home,
we reflect each other like lighted mirrors
and your mom will smile that knowing smile
because in three years you'll want to see a ring on my finger
and she knows her baby will do it in five.
And I want to be pretty so when my hair is damp,
my eyeliner cakes my face like charcoal
and a towel is wrapped around my body...
When I look in that mirror I see fireflies and lightning
and not an abandoned house
in a quiet street
with the attic light left on.