Oh dear, I cannot see a thing. 

I seem to have lost my own eyes!

May I please borrow yours? 

I couldn’t quite tell you when or where I misplaced them.

I used to be nine and unaware of what beauty actually meant,

So maybe some time after that?

Or perhaps when I got my first cell phone,

as ever since then, I’ve had an incessant paparazzi crew

capturing my every move.

Sometimes I weep because my heart has been pierced.

Tears that are honest and true, I swear to you! I do!

Yet I still find myself crawling over to the cheval mirror 

like a sprayed down, half-dead spider.

Gazing at the face I see

with black mascara streaks covering her cheeks

wondering… well, 

would you still think I was pretty? I’m begging, 

please tell me!

I’m ashamed to admit to you that I usually find more pleasure in looking back at photos

than in the moments that I’ve lived.

Because these pictures are evidence I can share to prove

that I really do exist!

I tried to daily journal because therapist Emily said it would help,

but I just can’t.

Because I don’t believe that tales of my mundane days spent in bed 

will inspire my grandchildren enough

after I become ugly and/or dead. 

Goodness, I am entirely unable to look down and see my own palms!

Here, allow me to return these to you…

Oh my, oh no…well,

they are stuck!

I’m so sorry…

I would give them back

If I could

God, I really, really would. 

Maybe I could help you find another pair?

I’ve heard that many others have also

Misplaced theirs.