The secret to happiness

The tears come out of nowhere
they trace a line down your nose
tickling
and drip off (finally) your chin

A perverse desire, now, to gaze on the one weeping, to see what she looks like
You gaze, but the sharp arch of your brow is unkind in the mirror

When I remove your clothes

(watching, still, in the mirror)
(i always want to watch)

the lines of your socks and bra, biting into your skin, will be apparent
A little red to remind us that we are human

Do you like, then, what you see in the mirror?
The humanity of the redness of those lines?
The uneven surface?
The ripples, the contours, the hairs poking through, the not-yet-tanned-by-summer skin?

no

never comfortable in my skin

that’s truly the secret to happiness, no?

This is why beautiful people are inherently happier

and children

no

The people who haven’t been taught to feel uncomfortable as who they are
Or who are young enough not to know
Or who are pretty enough not to care

They carry themselves with ease and happiness
Some of you have never been ashamed of your bodies
Your smiles
Your body hair
Your crooked teeth
Your shiny forehead
Your crackling knees
The happy trail, a misnomer
Your scars upon lip, knee, ankle, and wrist

And it shows

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