The True Meaning of Vanity

Walking by people,
Sometimes we don't notice,
Sometimes we do;
Sometimes we judge,
And sometimes we fear;
Fear the words hissed through other mouths,
Fear the impressions gathered in other minds;
Terrified by what we can't hear.

When we walk into a locker room
Hearing the fast talk that means nothing,
Hearing the quick interjection of “like”
Filling the indiscernible babbling.
When we finally get a glimpse of this
we stand and see,
ourselves becoming,
bubble gum chewing
clique obsessed,
trash-talking,
unintelligent fools.

I can feel myself morphing,
transitioning,
My hair is becoming sleek,
The monthly hair cuts that tame any split ends.
I can feel the mascara,
And the thick liquid mask that is coating my face,
the obsession with looking in the mirror.

But theirs is not my reality.

I wear eye liner,
not mascara,
and get my hair cut every six months.
I only say like when I'm imitating someone,
and only look in the mirror to analyze what others may see.

But I can't help but notice
The ice clear complexions,
The perfect smiles,
Their expertly sculpted forms,
Their thin, tan arms;
Their desirability.

Their vanity haunts me,
Follows me,
Shrinks me.

I don't match up to this standard,
This ruler,
This expectation.

Every one of them reminds me that
I'm not good enough.
I'm not pretty enough,
I'm not confident enough,
I'm not the right type of girl.

Every glance aimed my way,
Each snap of their gum,
are stones pelted at me,
I am a child on the playground,
Others pelting stones,
merely for their own amusement.
All in what they would call good fun.


But I do say like,
and I do wear makeup,
and I do look in the mirror.

Is it that I am like her?
Do I sound like her?
Do others see me how I see her?
Similarities are everywhere so could it be,
that I am like the person that I swear is so not me?
Should I stop saying “like”
and wearing makeup?
Should I make more of an effort to emphasize the important things?
Should I share the fact that someday I
want to be something ?
Where others see vanity in me
There is insecurity.

Where there is her vanity,
There could be insecurity,
There could be fear,
There could be denial of an expectation
from a pressuring father,
There could be a struggle to find a place...

That is the answer.

When I look upon anyone,
even myself.

The answer is,
To the question I ask
when I look in the mirror
or upon the curtains that shroud someone's life
and attempt to judge...

Is that,
There could be.

There could be similarities between me
and someone I thought I hated.

There could be an alternative explanation
to why someone appears vain.