When "Beautiful" Wasn't Enough

It was supposed to be the first day of the rest of forever,

but her pretty bouquet of pastel shades scattered to the ground

when she realized the groom had jumped ship for one last time.

The surprise should have hit her straight in the gut, through all

the layers of gauzy lace and beaded fabric and fine white glamour—

but she didn't shed a tear despite the rage of her maid of honor

and all the whispers that were surely filtering through the guests.

What man had the gall to leave a woman waiting at the altar?

A man, she supposed, that felt he really and truly had nothing to lose.

The weeks after were the telling signs of a woman scorned,

where she drank too much wine and binged a lot of bad TV,

even as her friends sent her reassuring texts that reminded her

of how she was "such a catch" just waiting to be snatched up

by the next suitor in line, a blurred gentleman who used his eyes

just to measure up how much she fit his personal wish list.

The dating apps—swipe, swipe, swipe—were her own personal hell

as she uploaded photos from every flattering angle even as

she hated the chase when she couldn't catch a thing.

"You're beautiful," one man wrote, as if that were enough

to light her heart aflame with want and need intertwined.

When she looked in the mirror every day to be faced

with the same old look that had driven a man away,

she wished she could unzip her skin and step out of it

just to see if a different kind of "beautiful" would have sufficed.

Her friends would have told her to let go, move on, mingle—

anything but do what she ended up doing to herself

by looking up the one social media account that was off-limits.

His face came into view, all smiles (all lies, she thought),

and he was off on some trip with "the bros" (as he called them),

seeming to have the time of his life while she wallowed.

How dare he, how dare he, how dare he, how dare he.

But she did nothing as she scrolled away, far away,

as if she were fleeing the nightmare version of a meet-cute.

Her truth was that she didn't need the ring or the roses

or even the man, not really, but how she felt in that dress?

"Beautiful" was how she had viewed herself as she beamed,

her reflection showing her everything she wanted in moments

that had fluttered out of her fingertips like runaway butterflies.

Now? What was she? And would "beautiful" ever be enough again?

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