She sees me heavier than the air could ever be,
definitely not as graceful.
One look at my face and she tells me,
the puss filled baggies,
the craters indented like dimples,
not quite as cute,
a mouth chopped pink and lumpy by braces,
I am not enough.

I saw myself,
eyes once bright as the sun,
with a twinkle of the stars in the sky,
now dimmed by the solar eclipse of her moon.
My body,
a curvaceous sign of womanhood,
not the flawless figure of bones she maintained
or wanted me to be.

Her face, a mural of her life today,
showed no passage of time.
Her skin as soft and smooth as the silken nightgown she wore at night,
glowing with radiance and youth.
But her hands, they tell of her true time.
Creases ringed around as if carved by the years,
the cuts, the scars, the freckles, the sores, they show where she has been,
the damage she has incurred.

Her eyes have done me justice.
The teeth once overlapping are now positioned side by side,
Working together to form a unfaltering crescent line.
My face, once the look of a battlefield,
Now calm, not confused.
My figure, long, and slender.
Those eyes,
Have made me a product of her.