In the mirror. Right before you leave. It’ll help, I swear.
My elbows slice the air like a bird diving from the nest. The shape of my mother’s ring crossing my board of a figure.
Crashing?
Finger pads squish into the plush skin surrounding my hips.
Squeeze. In, out.
Skin-shelled padding ripples under the command.
The cotton squints underneath my pressure, the slick sweat diving into the fabric pulls.
Too-tight trousers wrap my towering legs.
Salt-stained rims lay flat against sand-color skin. Prickled.
Elbow up, elbow up. Stand still, smile. And…
Flop. Arms waterfall from into a soft mold against my pear sides.
Rope and tassels frame my face in my duct-taped mirror, dangling a dare to
each of my lingering stares.
Hollowed out eyes sing to my never-ending monologue in my head.
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
This pose doesn’t fix the imposter inside at all.
