Am I pretty? I feel pretty, in this moment, looking at myself in the mirror. But I know, I so know, the moment I walk out the door, it’ll be gone. I won’t be pretty anymore. They’ll call and cajole. I’ll hear whistles and hollering. I’ll feel shame and guilt- for what, I wasn’t meant to know. But they know. They know.
Maybe one day…. I don’t know but maybe one day I will stop. I’ll stop and say something cool, something bad ass like what? Or I’ll just stand there and look at them, like I was Al Pacino*** or whatever. Then maybe, just maybe, they’ll feel the shame and guilt too.