blue (is the color of self-doubt)

I haven’t been letting myself go;

I’ve been setting my self free.

(oh have you, now?)

Do the moppy curls bother you?

(err, sometimes?)

Not me — I shake them back and forth,

let them breathe in spring’s new air;

it’s time to grow out.

 

How about the nose ring?

(mmm, a little…)

Slightly sticking out, still healing

from last minute decisions

made a few weeks back.

I have no regrets.

(you sure about that?)

Got anything to say about my froppy blue dress?

(well, some people might)

Once pressed to perfection,

it now hangs a little wrinkly

round my bony hips. No curves to fill that out.

I don’t care today.

(do you?)

My eyeliner’s a bit smudged. Smoky.

Oh — and it’s blue, too.

Does that bother you?

(honey)

No worries; here’s an eyelash for the road.

 

My jeans have holes in them

not the store-bought rips; these are genuine tears

made more intentional alongside artisanal bleach stains,

splotched all over.

 (like a denim cow! lol)

Well, moo to you, too.

Am I coming off a bit aggressive?

(umm)

That’s not the vibe, hun, I promise.

I just feel fine

(for once)

with a little imperfection.

(no)

with a lot of imperfections:

 

with the gaps in my bra

(gah)

and the swell of my ankles,

(ugh)

the kink in my nose

(eh)

and the off-beat    half-step in my gait.

 

It’s OK

(ok?)

It’s OK

(ok…)

It’s OK

OK!

I tell myself,

willing the flawlessness to materialize

through the unity of my flaws.

 

Gestalt.

All together made whole. Wholesome. Holy

hell, on days like this —

I feel on the brink.

 

Afterwards

when no one is looking,

I blink, and let the salty pools overflow,

bleed down, blue ink

trailing in their wake.

 

I shower many times,

scrubbing furiously.

But when I look in the mirror,

some blue streaks still remain.

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