Pretty

She cakes her face with foundation, to rid herself of the wrinkles and discoloration.

The experience of her face is washed away, the sleepless nights and the laugh lines that usually adorn it.

She brushes on the mascara, one eyelash at a time, she isn’t pretty enough without them.

The eyeliner is painful, but after time that can be ignored, pain is beauty after all.

Nobody really liked her natural hair, it was far too frizzy and dull.

She pulls out a straightening iron, the burn marks on her hand remember it well.

The sickly sweet scent of hair products fill the room, floral, herbal.

Crème to smooth it down and a shine spray to make it look alive, at least the label says.

Lipstick, a cherry red, the cracked, chapped lips craved.

Contacts made her eyes water, glasses were ugly after all.

Earrings slipped in, once an irritating weight, now comforted her.

A deep breath.

A quick glance in the mirror.

She didn’t look like herself.

Good.

Now she was pretty.