Machine

To feel beautiful

I wear make-up.

Glossy coal lines outlining my eyes,

Narrow eyes; the liquid widens them.

But I’m buying a new bottle today.

This one cracks like cheap, dry paint.

My hair, cut and feathered,

Frames my face.

Jagged, sexy-

I’m trying to grow it out

So I don’t look like such a dyke

While maintaining my reputation.

Fashion is like an untapped spring.

I haven’t found exactly what I want.

However, I do have

Jeans to hug my hips,

Shirts to expand my chest, squeeze my sides,

Lingerie I imagine someone else in.

I exercise daily.

An hour a day, or so I try.

I’m toning my stomach and my a*s.

My thighs are getting there.

I hate the burn.

I know some love it and I wish I did.

When I was little, I danced.

I imagine the plump little girl

Afraid of the mirror

In love with the mirror

That covered the front wall,

Teaching her the power and weakness of will.

I am a machine-

A sacrifice of self

For the better good

Of myself.

So, to answer the question,

I skipped that meal today

To feel beautiful.