It's One of Those Nights.
Abstract might be my favorite type of art, But I don’t think I’ll ever see this face as a masterpiece.
It’s one of those nights.
I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.
I cannot meet my own eyes.
I can’t face the truth.
I cannot bear witness to this face.
To these teeth that will always be a little too crooked.
To these eyes that will always look so exhausted.
I cannot make peace with the way my jaw sits so unevenly.
I don’t want to look at this aging, tired skin.
To my forehead lines to my crow’s feet and all of the little spaces and spots in between,
I can see everything that has ever happened to me.
It’s all laid out like a map with no real destination;
There are only twists and turns.
They are all so connected, yet there are no beginnings.
They are all just dead ends.
I wonder how it must feel to look in the mirror and love the person looking back at you.
What is it like to look into your own eyes and see love?
In mine, I only see disappointment.
There is no love here,
Only pain and the problems it has left behind.
Some days, I feel so beautiful.
I am powerful.
I think I could do anything I have ever dreamed of doing
And then some.
But then, I’ll see her.
And then, it all comes crashing down.
It does not matter which “her” I see;
They are all the same.
I will never be like them.
Symmetry is something my face will never naturally know.
Abstract might be my favorite type of art,
But I don’t think I’ll ever see this face as a masterpiece.