Right now, I am breathing uneasily and imperfectly, similar to how I carry myself.
My breath and my own piece of mind.
These are the things that follow me around.
Not an endless scroll of different dimensions in which you can view my face
When you get a piece of me,
your purchase doesn’t come with a filter or film,
that hides the fact that my left eyebrow is arched a bit too much.
There are no Lo Fi sifters attached to my perfectly imperfect face.
My nose is just a little too big.
My lips are small because I haven’t injected my face with the hate that I have for my filter-less self.
But I speak with them, kiss with them, and smile with them,
out of pride.
My body isn’t perfect, but it is what it is.
And that’s me.
Oh, let me make sure to tilt this picture 3.18 degrees to the right,
And maybe then the angle of my face will in tern get me more likes
Yea, that should tell me that I’m enough.
Because without the faded brown hazed over my face,
it won’t look good.
I switch back and forth between the teardrop effect that enhances the part of the picture that I want
and the teardrop effect of
my own tears,
because my self-acceptance is losing the battle.
Along the way I realize that I can’t tell the difference between Walden and Sunrise.
And suddenly I can’t see through the veil.
Do I want that one curl running down my neck to be emphasized?
Or the eyelashes on my right eye?
The truth is, I will never be the picture that results from this process.
This picture is my mask.
A mask that makes me feel temporarily satisfied,
but then, empty.
And then before I tap that check mark to show my mask to the world, I go back to the normal picture.
The one that has that imperfectly angled face
The weird eyebrow, the big nose
It is strange to look at.
My face, though not perfect, I recognize.
It is familiar. Comfortable.
And without thinking,
I tap the normal button
and load the picture
because though I try to deny it,
I look happy in this picture.
And I can’t possibly think of ruining it with a mask.