Click goes the button and the camera retorts with a gallery filling up with duds
Heavy is the hand that positions the camera to capture the perfect chin, without the extension that sores the eyes
The nose that broadens into the sphere of the nostrils that can hold anything, except the required profile
The exaggerated contours of every inch, sprayed across without permission, remain a mystery to unlock.
How they hell do you do it?
A thousand times a day it seems, my stance in front of any mirror, that allows me, throws back images that threaten to cut me in halves
It looks like me because it is, but then the eyes…
Once filled with the promise of tomorrow now floats in the strains of the days before
My skin still glows through but the angle has to be closer next time, so my forced cleavage can counteract my high shoulders
Let’s do this again.
Oh snap! Damn flash! My eyes are half closed
Not bad. Not great.
I always wanted the features of a gazelle but now I see it can never be.
Getting too close achieved the results at the expense of a seemingly short and wide neck
Plus, the lips are parted in a way that insinuates desperation
It’s all forced, and it shows. I feel the way I look but don’t look the way I feel.
I’m trying! Fuck! I just want one.
The one that proves I didn’t spend an entire afternoon documenting how pathetic almost middle aged women can be
I got none. Except the one in my head. My large head sitting on a small neck that supports what I knew all along.
Illusion. It’s all a game that no one ever wins because you lose the moment the button is in motion.
I will never quench the thirst for the gorgeous reflection of my existence.
No one will. Selfies, belfies and the “likes” of a lifetime all edited for the perfect lie.