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 **** 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.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
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 **** 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.
