Nip Tuck

people look in the mirror all the time.

pluck this little hair,
smooth that little wrinkle with a finger
curse the mole on their shoulder
bless the plumpness of lips.

imperfections.

Tiny little lines formed from laughing
or crying
larger than life pores bursting
from sweat embedded from the brow
after a long days work.
little nuances that prove that we are alive
yet die with the cells that provide us.
and we're human.

human like

a life grown in the womb,
wet and wrinkly encased in globs of
fat around bone to protect life
amniotic fluid and stem cells
fluidity as the river of unions
gave birth to what a child should be. and somehow,
some way
between that beautiful birth
and our end of cellular growth
we are inept.
ugly.
imperfect.

we look in a mirror.
we gaze at little things
that become lots of things
which focus on larger issues
of why beauty is not a cliche skin deep
but a humongous and perpetual diminished fight
against the youthfulness of skin. and skin to skin we
clench on to this fountain,
only to be reminded
that nothing can stop the cruel joke
that the mirror will eventually play
on us.
we are ugly.
purely unattractive.
purely full of gluttonous folds called our muffin top
and hips that poke out further than intended.
we are not cute.
we sway false hair to cover the thinning of our own
because the fixture of stress costs too much hours
in a psychological visit to the office.
we are not beautiful.
we have yellowed teeth stained from coffee overdoses
promising us more hours in a day
to get things accomplished in a repetitive circle.

imperfections.

a crack here,
a dimple of cellulite there,
and just like that-
we are not beautiful.

-b.r.rivera-taylor