On the Bad Days

I try to remember the way he stared when I walked down the street or I think of the way the little girl tugged on my dress and told me how pretty I was I laugh, she is joking of course I want to see myself through her eyes I wonder if she is able to look at herself in this way I wonder if she still sees herself as beautiful how long until that mirror is blurred? we were made in His image, I know but I want to be made by my own hands, give myself forgiving eyes I imagine molding myself into what I found most purely beautiful with naive eyes, unbound by society's tendrils, I would craft the same upturned nose that made me cry in the fifth grade.. the rolls on my stomach would delicately undulate as my hand passed over top of them.. I would choose brown hair like the soils of the Earth, but I would make it glisten red by the rays from the Sun to be the Creator and the Created the little girl inside me rests now, but it is time for her to awake I want her to see what she has done, and see that it is good