never what meets the eye.

we enjoy being beautiful, but -

I must be god’s favorite the way he sculpted me so intricately. In the mirror, I trace my lips and stare like I’ve never seen her before, it’s like I’ve never seen her before, I don’t see her anymore. I blink and her from last night is here, I blink again, and I see my childlike self. She smiles at her pretty face no longer gone to waste; she’s in awe. But she’s staring at a face that looks back at everyone else, they see her, but they don’t see her. I’m clutching the edges of this porcelain sink and my vision is blurry, our vision is blurred. before, we spoke loudly. but now we turn heads in rooms where we don’t speak. I’m not used to it; we’re not used to it. Now when we speak, they don’t hear, they watch. They watch us. They watch my lips form words and my eyes, the prettiest pair of eyes, see them for what they are. They watch my delicate hands wave profanities, not so delicate anymore. but they don’t hear, they don’t see, they only watch.