looking glass self

it always surprises me how easy it is to avoid looking at one's own face

it shouldn’t be shocking, but there’s a silver lining every time i catch a glance of my face lately

it feels like it doesn’t happen often

i wear a black mask to work and gently lie to my coworkers that i am sick

i don’t need to have my thoughts on display like that

she knows, but of course she would know

when she stops by my desk as she gets into the office, she gives me a knowingly empathetic look

there’s a softer tone to her voice when she asks me how i’m doing

she knows, and i’m glad she knows

we look out for each other

i hurriedly stab at my eyebrows with tweezers

thick dark hairs littering the basin, the occasional involuntary yelp echoing 

as my eye waters, i think about how i want my hair to look tonight

lately i’ve been wearing it down and around my face as much as possible

it’s another layer of my armor

i put it up to hop in the shower and shave

now it's unavoidable

i accept reality and stare at myself

my hair pulled back and sides shaved short 

it’s impossible not to remember the little kid who insisted his head was buzzed before the summer heat

but i don’t see him anymore

i see myself 

in my beauty and my androgyny and the scars i carry from everything that’s happened since i knew that little kid

i want to wear my hair up tonight

i don’t care how it looks

i want people to see my face

because i’m finally proud to wear it

when i’m out in public i run into friends i haven’t seen in over a year

we stare at each other for a minute before realizing and embracing each other

“i didn’t recognize you!”

“i didn’t think you had such a cool haircut” 

“you look so great!” 

i’m blushing and beaming

i don’t see him anymore

i see myself