If I could change one thing, it would be the way that the daughters of Eve looked upon their flesh.

Or the way that they so critically analyze their reflections in the wake of the sun, cursing each freckle that spackles their nose, swearing it conveys a childish image. 

I would change how they so carelessly pick up a brush, whispering false promises that they will be loved if they coat themselves in colors reserved only for the pumpkins in the midst of the autumn leaves.

Or how they coat their lashes with soot and ash, building an empire of fake beauty which will topple when the day has fallen away, and they realize it was just for a season.

Or the urgency in the way they press the hardened wax to their lips, the red catching fire and tarnishing the innocence of the pale pink that once resided there, taking comfort in the fact that they are not little girls anymore. 

Oh, how I long to ask them of their insecurities, or what promises had been made and broken unto them. How I long to ask them if they hurt inside, and if the foundation is the mortar in which they helplessly and hopelessly rub into their skin in order to attempt to piece together the broken fragments of the shattered child that once resided their.

If I could change one thing, I  would change the definition of their word beauty, and remind them that the word itself can not be spelled without 'be' and 'u'. I would change the way they desperately try to hide their faces whilst running in the mornings to get their coffee, or how they avert their gaze with flushed cheeks in embarrassment when a boy smiles at the dimples in their colorless lips. 

If I could change one thing, it would be the way that they hate themselves, when they are so eager to love others...