On the other side of the glass
Janet is perfect.
Simply, utterly perfect.
Her words are dipped in honey
Sweet as spheres of fruit
With quick wit and pun seamlessly made
Clever and funny and tasteful.
Her smile is the still masterpiece of Cheshire
Bold, confident, pearly whites.
Her Cardinal tresses shine brightly,
Each glossy strand the stroke of a fine paintbrush,
Gently smoothed across the canvas
Of her milky face sprinkled with freckles.
Just a dash of the sun kisses
Nary too many, of course.
Her clothes fit her like white tea gloves
Trim and proper and pretty
She smells of pleasantness
The scent bottled in her aura
As her calm arms loop around more clones
All of them effortlessly grinning.
Extraordinarily, perfectly beautiful.
But we do not live on that side of the glass.
Only our clones can inhabit the hostile environment.
Rows upon rows of perfect faces with perfect smiles and perfect gestures
Perfect food and perfect sunsets
Perfect this and perfect that.
Why, it's perfect.
But their faces do not feel the blow of harsh words.
Their eyes cannot cry bitter salt tears as a result of injustice.
They are less than paper,
They are pixels.
My arms are sinewy, full of tendons, muscle, skin, bones, and blood.
The blood that emerges when I fall
A plume of red or a silent clear chill.
But I feel the pain.
My picture-perfect smile hides last night's tears
From emotions that knock on my doorstep
Unwelcome visitors who refuse to leave
Until they have filled their round bellies with the spoils of parasitism.
Janet on the other side of the glass has such an effortless life.
She's so successful,
She's the one going far in life, not I.
I try to be confident.
I do try.
But the doubt nags me
Gnawing on my self-assurance
Like a rodent's incisors
Leaving teeth marks that serve as constant reminders that I will never be good enough.
I will never be as great as Janet.
The words I intend to sound firm, strong, and honeyed
Tumble out of my mouth
In a distinctive voice that is, and I quote, "too high to be heard."
I let out a frustrated sigh.
I want to scream "Listen to me!"
But everyone chatters
Their words shoving mine into a dusty corner.
Janet's words are powerful, forceful
Her words Do Something
They change the world.
Look at all the proof she has on the other side of the glass.
I flake and I flounder.
I prefer to lounge in my pajamas
Enfolded in a blanket of fleecy warmth
The soft fabric tickling my skin
Scented with a hint of baby powder.
But I want to do something, too.
My life should look likes hers.
She is fabulous.
And I? I trip over air
Invisible obstacles that urge me to attack the floor
Guiding my descent.
My breath without brush is like a vat of radioactive sludge
Green and oozing disgust.
Janet's eyes are clear, bright, and vibrant.
A turquoise Caribbean sea with a black buoy anchored in the center
Nestled in a field of white.
My eyes are not a clear color
Are they blue? Green? Gray? I know not.
But I do know my dry white fields are marred by red snakes
Slithering in forking lines
I try to quench their thirst with saline so they slither back to their caves,
But their greedy senses refuse to fill.
I have failed.
I do fail.
Look at me on this side of the glass.
Look at me as I am.
I am embarrassing.
I want to be Janet.
I want to be perfect.
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