Morning Routine

It’s like some sort of routine
How you walk out of bed
Half asleep
Look in the mirror
And still find the consciousness
To hate yourself.

How while brushing your teeth
You see the two yellow canines
Biting into your confidence
You see one tooth over another
And curse it
Like a mother trying to resolve a fight
Between her children
But your teeth can never be your children
They’re too imperfect

How you slather on two black lines
Over your eyes
Hoping that the light in them dies
And when they’re slightly
Not aligned
You erase them again
And again
Till you get it right
But you never get it right
Your eyes are way too small

How you step in front of the full mirror
And analyze your stretch marks
The curves in those lines
Offend you
And threaten you
They remind you of the cupcake
You ate last week
The one with five sprinkles
Four of which you didn’t deserve.

How you look further down
At the way your legs stick together
And refuse to come apart
Unless you stretch them
Forcefully
You then stand there
And jump up and down
Hoping that maybe in a minute
They’ll be disjointed
And free
Like a bird learning to fly
After its mother leaves
But you could never fly
Your legs are too damn heavy.

How you try to get dressed
Based on the way your stomach looks
In that top
Or how tall you look
In those pants
So you try on everything in your closet
And spend so much time looking through it
That you subconsciously
Lock yourself in it.

How you finally decide to walk out
After applying some more fairness cream
And some final checks in the mirror
To see whether you’ve hidden
Your true reflection
Well enough.

As you walk out
You imagine the same morning
Without a mirror
How instead of depending on it
For reflecting your flaws
You could be it
To shine light on your beauty
The word beauty now echoes
Through your mind
You laugh a little openly
And continue walking
Unapologetically.

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