I looked in the mirror today
My hair seems to misbehave in all the right ways
When I'm not going out.
The carefully traced lines that were once beneath my eyes are now only shadows of their former selves
Shadows that are smeared all down my puffy cheeks
They do not resemble war paint, nor are they remotely artistic in anyway
I look worse than a mechanic who has spent the majority of his day under a Volkswagon.
The true foundation of beauty—the simplest makeup that helps more than any other, has migrated into curdled lumps in oddest of places.
I can't look.
I attack with the soap
Then comes the water
I've barely made a dent.
Five minutes and several layers of skin later
There's a new monstrosity staring back at me
But horrible in a better way for sure
I bury myself in the wonderfully course towel
The blue cap twists
My finger dips
On goes the face
I keep in the jar
Here we go again.