Morning Ritual

She sits down in the mirror.

Stares at her eyes and wonders.

What am I doing.

Why am I making up this face.

What does it really do.

Who really cares.

Who sees.

Around her she has scrawled words that she finds valuable.

Words that describe her the way she likes.

Poet.

Friend.

Confidant.

Brave.

Invincible.

But she doesn’t feel invincible this morning.

This morning she feels empty.

Empty with a blank pallet face.

And with slow hands she shakes the foundation out of the bottle.

With carefully crafted steps she paints her face.

Paints her face to match the words around her head.

A halo of who she is trying to be.

Someone she is sometimes, but sometimes not.

And with the final swish of blush.

She looks in her eyes.

Smiles.

Stands up.

Faces the world.