Staring in the mirror you fix your hair, putting ever little strand in place. You check your paint-like makeup, making sure your foundation line doesn’t show, and that your mascara hasn’t clumped. You reapply your lip gloss -- perfect pink -- so that in shines in shallow beauty. Straiten your top and allow your jeans to sit a little lower on your hips. You try on several different pairs of shoes trying to find the ones which will offset your outfit most dramatically -- you fiddle with necklaces, earrings and bracelets looking for that simple accent to your look. Are you ready? Every detail has been attended to here, there’s nothing else you can do but walk out that bedroom door.
Are you ready to face the world? Wouldn’t you rather ask if the world is ready for you? What are you going to say when you see that boy? The one you think you’ll never be good enough for. The potential stresses of the day loom menacingly above you as you prepare yourself to engage in the acts of your daily social routine. Will anybody hate you by the time the day is done?
Midday you stand again before a mirror, slowly checking yourself head to toe. A few hairs have sprung free of their bobby pins and must be placed back under control. Again, assure yourself that your pretty face is painted just so... don’t want them to see what’s underneath. Straighten your top and lower your jeans once more. Every little detail must be just so.
Are you quite hidden now? Your true identity shrouded by the image of yourself that you harbour for the enjoyment of other people? Are you sure that they won’t see you, guess at what you’re doing?
You see, dear simple teenager you are hiding. Yes, you are hiding from the world around you. These people make you awfully nervous after all, they’re such drama queens. Wearing they’re stylish clothing and over done hair they all seem so comfortable and then there’s you. Although on the outside you appear to be just like one of them... you know that they say it’s what’s on the inside that counts and on the inside... You’re nervous and uncomfortable, you’re awkward and fidgety. You really, really don’t seem to belong here but in your desperate, shallow desires to be perfect you see no way out. Smile, they’re looking.
Hiding, hiding, always hiding. What are you hiding inside yourself? A different kind of girl perhaps? And what, pretty girl tell me, are you hiding from? Is it really them and their judgment that you fear, or is it you and your judgmental little mirror?