a magazine is not a mirror

 

 

the compact sits open on the table

and she leans close in the half light

peering as she liberally covers her lips

with the color prescribed to her by

last month’s fashion magazine

and she pauses, and frowns,

eyeing the plate of French fries set

just out of reach

the compact is clicked closed, the lipstick follows

tossed back into her bag

pursed lips as she sips her water

trying to force herself to live this

lo cal, non fat, no whip version of reality

not for herself, but for what others

deem she should be

a size two, blonde haired, long legged

dress up doll for everyone but herself

a wind up toy made for others’ pleasure

no curves, no originality, no emotions-

because god forbid she should ruin her makeup

but even though she has everything

the world says should make her happy

she feels hollow and betrayed