sometimes i want to be pretty (pretty for who? pretty for me? pretty for the mirror?? i am the mirror. i worship the mirror. i obsess over the mirror. i have nightmares about the mirror. most of my life is in relation to some form of mirror. i had to go to therapy for mirrors. mirrors: a life story by me) so i put on makeup.

“made up” real nice, what is nice, nice is a construction i have to work really hard at being, i am more happy being not nice, i feel safer being not nice. nice for those who deserve it. nice to those that earn it. i am a zen pessimist, i am on an island of happiness in a sea of darkness and sometimes the tide drowns me. i am a mean girl, i am a Mean Girl With A Reason For Being Mean, made up to be nice to seem nice so i can work with un nice people and hide behind my Made Up Niceness so I can stay busy being me, and even with these negotiations, all of me is real, even the made up makeup me because every representation of me is real because it is me because i am afforded the privilege and luxury of being represented, though it is shattered, though it is false, though it is passing. “You’re a good feminist for a white girl.” Fuck me, fuck you, I’m not white, I am white, I’m asian, I’m not asian, I’m never home anywhere, all the makeup in the world can’t make me seem more me even if I try, and what am I trying to be anyway, who am I trying to please or prove. You? Fuck you. Fuck passing. Fuck having to pass. Fuck, i could talk forever about passing. I see it already. Mirror part two: another life story by me. 

there are other times i don’t want to be pretty. or i want to be pretty but i want to fuck your pretty notions. I see you. I see I can be pretty for you, but why on earth would I want to? I am going to fuck with your mind. You can see me, you can stare, I can’t stop you, but I can make damn sure you regret it. I am going to scare you and weird you the fuck out as much as you scare me when I’m walking home at night praying someone is within screaming distance and praying you will assume I’m on the phone with my dad because I’m talking to myself with my headphones on when really I’m talking to myself because I’m scared of you, and fuck you, for making me scared, I don’t care if you’re a Nice Guy, I don’t trust Nice. I don’t have the luxury of affording to trust nice when it’s 11PM and I’m walking home alone, because even if you’re nice, you’re unknown, and unknown means you can hurt me, even if I am a Mean Girl, and I can never forgive you for that. 

so i wear makeup, to be a girlmonster, to hide from you, to scream at you, to be pretty for me, to be anti-you, to be real to me, to be a strange reality to you, something you cannot touch, do not want to touch, cannot touch, cannot hurt, do not want to be nice to, do not want to be anything to. run away from me like i want to run away from you. please want to not want me. it would mean so fucking much.

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