Paint Me Perfect

Some days my mornings blast by in all the fire and flurry of Apollo 13

Or after glaring at my reflection

I decide nothing can be done

Or I simply come upon the conclusion I couldn’t care less

Someone always feels inclined to say something

“Are you not wearing makeup? You look tired.”

It’s my fault for setting expectations too high

Painting more aesthetically appeasing asymmetrical features

But I can’t help craving perfection

In fact Barbie engraved it into my entire self-perception

I feel it pulse in my lacking chest and gifted thighs

Whenever a more unparalleled presentation of lovely femininity than I walks by

I attempt to beat it down with common sense to expose how little content petty comparisons contain

But caring is my Achilles heel

Even if I possessed a face with the flawless gleam Covergirl or Maybelline promised me

I’d feel like a cheat

There’s nothing like mixing soap and water

Scraping off the mask

Lifting my eyes up to a reflected face that’s not fabricated

Instead blotchy, bare

Naked, raw

I’m sick of shields