Sometimes, I want to paint my face pretty.
Dye my hair a different color – any other color, something not my own.
The mirror shines my face back at me and I notice everything that needs to be fixed. I notice the color of my skin, the scars, the lines and wrinkles, the bone structure, my nose. I think about what would make it better, prettier. I think about how I’m not better, prettier.
I daydream about makeup and pretty skin. I fantasize about being what I’m not.
I have to build myself up every time I don’t pick up the brush, or apply foundation. I have to forget my face every time I step outside.
Most of the time, I want to be pretty.