When your eyes meet mine, I wonder what you see. What is it you’re looking at? Do you see my prominent flaws? If not, what do you think?
My eyes gaze around the room, wondering whether anyone is looking at me. I am not conceited… Am I?
All I can see in my reflection is every imperfection, even through the layers of foundation. I smear some new crimson lipstick across my lips, and pout. I love the colour. For a split second. Meanwhile, my lips retreat back into a thin smile… which then fades.
Even when I can’t think of a reason to feel pretty, I anxiously hope that you can see beauty in me. I seek validation, but what does that say about me?
My Fresh Pages 