I look in the mirror every morning.
I look into the eyes of a girl, who is so tired.
I brush her hair and paint her face. Yet no matter how much I paint and plaster, I can’t hide her eyes.
This girl, just wanted a few things. To be loved, to complete her dreams, to be appreciated, and to belong somewhere and not feel misplaced.
I’ve failed her. I keep telling her that we’re going to do it, make it, etc.
Yet, I hide her underneath my womanly ways. I tell her to be quiet and let the woman, who knows more, talk in the conversation.
Every day I go home, and I wash off my paint. It swirls down the drain. She stares back at me; she knows what I’ve done, she knows I’m leaving her behind.
They want me to, is the excuse. Slowly, I can feel the magic slipping through my hands. My dreams are becoming…well dreams, incomplete and something one day, I might look back and laugh at.
She’s so disappointed. What I haven’t told her is, so am I.
I’m so disappointed in who I’ve become. I can barely look in the mirror and not cry.