expecting to see
the grotesque mirages
of myself
that I have become accustomed to
imagining
staring out at me
from every frame
but the girl
blowing out last century's
birthday candles
is today
not burdened
by those habitually fabricated
kilos,
imperfections,
monsters
these are not images
made blurry
by adolescent self hating insecurity
but crisp, clear
outlines of a girl
a pretty, pouting, posing girl
with poor posture
and badly fitting clothes
waiting for someone to tell her
she was thin enough
she was good enough
when she should have been able
to look in the mirror and see it
for herself.
can you count the candles on the cake? I can't. I think I'm 15 or 16 here. photographer unknown.
