Everly
 

Outside was always prettier,

Everly with her steady hand,

Painting her face with a notch-deep desire,

Space one, then space two, and on it went

Until the notches ran inward, losing count

Of each tick.

It was waking up after a deep long sleep,

A blackout, and there her face–a pretty little

Picture of who she never was and never will be.

But men are stupid, so she thinks, but really,

Men are just good at denying the truth, which really

Isn’t unique to men at all.

When the work was done, it was time to dress,

Which took a little less blackout, but still,

A separation from all that was reality.

A separation from what was deeply wanted

And what something inside all of us deeply

Expects.

All together she looked like everything she

Always knew she would as a girl, playing

One Barbie against the other,

And imagining her muscles and skin

So smooth and long and limber enough

To be the thing she always imagined.

The thing she saw now in the mirror,

But could barely even feel.