she seems flawless,
she appears to have it all—eyes are big,
Lips are small and nose is
In-between.
Hair is black and face, white,
she is a beauty.
But deeper, you discover the shadows,
Many, haphazardly scattered across the image like
Burnt-out fragments of the sun.
They eclipse half her face but
she is still a beauty.
You find her shaped and re-shaped eyebrows,
Plucked ferociously until they are store-bought.
Notice her caked foundation, slathered and smeared on
To exterminate those
Imperfections. Then her hair,
And you criticize her (lack of) style—forty-five minutes:
Mousse, hairspray, and gel to achieve that
Messy look that seems so
In fashion.
And the necklace!—Oh, that frayed piece of black yarn looped
Twice around her neck, just because it’s cool
To look tough.
The kohl-disguised eyes, circled and colored in
With some bleak black liner.
you shake your head, cluck your tongue, and move on.
She is not a bona fide beauty.
you don’t realize. She’s more.
She is the average girl.