Trying To Be Pretty

this is a quiet acknowledgement  of running a hand over skin to see if it is soft  and over a body to see if it is full  and of measuring the size but more importantly the consistency of breasts  and of taking close-ups at odd angles to trick the camera  into believing someone is beautiful    this is a quiet breaking of an unwritten rule  to keep things silent that should not have to be silent  to put on paper the things that happen behind closed curtain,  under insulating cover.  to hide the moments of just trying  to convince oneself of those words oft-touted by the overconfident,  who are really just trying to convince themselves too:                  'i'm happy with my body'      because like hell you are but at least you try  in the shower when you have to be naked and you can't help but wonder  when someone else one day sees all of you like that,  if they'll feel like you do about it or if that was just all  in your head    this is a quiet confession  of putting on makeup that cakes and peels away layers of honesty  of spending time pushing-up shaving-off and hiding  and of looking in the mirror naked trying to convince something inside you  that that is something beautiful in front of you and maybe you can love it    it's a hard thing to love,  with all the little things like  a birthmark on your shoulder and  a dark spot from when you were little that will never go away  and the hair you don't feel like scraping off with an angry blade  or the hair down there you don't like to think of    and it's on the quizzes and questions everywhere  not just in the counselors' offices and the self-esteem tests  but in the ads that say BUY THIS and WEAR THESE that are really  testing you asking you that question you hate                  'are you happy with your body?'      and you never know which bubble to fill in    you are lacking something that you fruitlessly search for in the mall where what they tell you is here we will put on some makeup samples tell us what you like  and here go in the fitting room tell us what you like and look a fortune teller to tell you this is why your future will be dismal    but it will not be found in these faces only in the deepest roots of you      this is a quiet confession that i cannot seem to get out right  it is a quiet telling of times when i have felt perhaps ashamed, embarrassed  though with an audience of just myself  and of feeling a need to expel thoughts of what i have done  which is only just to want to be able to love myself in truth:    but the mirror seems stained with my nakedness and my scrutiny  i want to hide from myself  want to be someone else          (and why do you not shave your armpits  is it because you fancy yourself a rebel    no it is because i like being a mammal)