Written by Lily Anderson

Art by Lily Anderson

i lay on a heavy down comforter and think
about my animal body
red lightly freckled nose,
damp hair swirling around propped limbs,
eyes sun-baked and red
as the pink powdery sunset slowly dips and fades into gentle blues.
my skin feels tight, salt puckering, gentle burn, tanned.
i look back on pictures of myself this day last year.
my bangs are too short, unflatteringly high above smudged mascara.
my face is pale and blemished embarrassingly in all the worst places- around the mouth, the chin.
im staring into the lens, reluctant, the camera pinprick like a beady pupil.
i only take these photos of myself when i feel, on rare occasion, that i have somewhat achieved acceptable beauty, or some immense, staggering feeling of depression.
my camera roll is littered with my vacant stare, in various stages of dishevel-
tears streaking, mouth contorted, pitiful at the camera.
documenting the groveling and putting it in a filing cabinet, compact,
waiting to be revisited a month later and think,
oh yeah, that wasn’t so bad.
now i lie on the plush, warmed bed, my feet dangling to the soft carpet,
and my eyes and body feel new and rediscovered.
washed clean by sun and new love,
steaming like a hot stone,
and scrolling through my camera roll
i cant seem to find any of those pictures any more.