by Nicole Foster

When you're in the shower, no one knows your crying. You sit in there, scrubbing away all the outside impurities while the ones from the inside pour down your face and mix with the "clean" water. Once they detach from your skin they roll down the drain and "poof" theyre gone, atleast thats what it looks like to the naked eye- or the selectivley blind one. Every crushed dream and hidden desire rushes to be disguised in a pipe that never sees sunlight. You clean yourself and proceed in washing away the imperfections. Once you get out of the shower, you wipe all the evidence of a broken girl off your naked body. What you forgot was the inside and the most crucial part. As you pass the mirror you see the running mascara and visible pimples. Suddenly you forget that no one would even suspect youve been crying-you just got out of the shower. You grab the makeup remover and in a hurry shake some on the floor as you press it to your face and hide the evidence. You medicate the pimples and hope that they will go away soon, no one should see what a perfect girl you're not. You stare at the naked mirror and wonder who the hell has stolen your body. For a second theres a twinkle of the child you used to be...the one who laughed and cried before her innocence was replaced with a black hole. For another split second there is a glimpse of the woman you'll become, an image all too foggy and almost imperceptible. And then it hits you, the cold hard facts-you are neither of these people. So who does that make you? Thinking about this is not helping so you close your eyes and block the emotions from the mirror. All the while re-corking your emotions for a day when you have a bigger glass and stronger corkscrew. A day when you feel brave enough to tame a monster. You apply fresh makeup and leave the bathroom as "the same girl" you walked in as. The only difference is the seeds left in the bathroom, the ones that hold a secret you dont even know. The seeds that have fallen farther than they ever should have fallen...

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