When I was younger, I was made to believe that one day
I would be beautiful, that beauty would come late for me
patience it runs in the family.
In other words: You are not beautiful.
A funny thing to say: how does one respond?
I scoffed and resisted the urge to give in.
My mantra: You are beautiful now, naturally.
But hope is funny too; like doubt,
it plays tricks with your mind.
An idea so tempting that
you are willing to wait and see–
A reason to carry on, dignity intact,
for the belief in a better you.
I am older now and somehow
I have become a girl who wears make-up,
a habit I picked up while waiting,
awkwardly at first and then with more skill,
even though I once cringed at the thought
Of ever becoming that kind of a girl;
I, who used to argue with my mother
“YOU DON’T NEED MAKE-UP TO BE BEAUTIFUL,”
am now, myself, seldom without it.
I have learned to accentuate the truth and hide–
better yet–disguise, to line my lips with lies,
color them in and polish them off with gloss.
I have learned to paint on my moods
with shades of neutral or sultry
Smoky or dazzle me, feel-free-to-judge-me.
Rule of thumb: either eyes or lips but never both–
last thing you want is both (your eyes and lips),
as if you are trying too hard to be something
You are not.
What if my beauty were invisible. Hope is a funny thing.
Like a joke waiting to be played, truth already made.
Is beauty still beauty if you can’t see it?
The truth is: I have never felt less beautiful.
As if a deal were made and beauty, tricked into hiding,
Or worse never coming. Somewhere in the process,
I became incomplete, either eyes or lips but never both.
These days no one says to me: You are not beautiful.
They don’t have to. I already believe it.
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You can read more here and, for future reference, she’s on the sidebar as well.