Eccentric Flower:199811/dont look at me
From Eccentric Flower
«November 1998 «Eccentric Flower
 |
seventeen eleven thirteen don't look at me Columbine has tired-looking eyes. They don't necessarily have bags or dark circles (sometimes they do, when she's been up all night), but they always have that thin line of red along the eyelids, that slightly inflamed look. Her eyes are blue. Which blue depends on the light, the mood, the sleep, and the clothing. Today they are a watery, diluted, washed-out blue. Columbine has slightly hollow cheeks. Not starvation hollow, but definitely concave. They make her cheekbones more prominent, which she hates. She wants a soft face, not a bony one, although she admits that a rawboned face sits well on her gawky body. Columbine is all leg and elbow, told her whole life that she was too tall and skinny to be ladylike, exacerbated by a clumsiness which lasted into her twenties, when she finally learned to move her unwieldy form around a room with something approximating grace. She's not so skinny you want to tell her to go eat something. Her clothing is usually loose enough that you can't tell what she's shaped like anyway. She wears a 36B bra. Her shoulders are too broad. Her feet are too big. No model looks like Columbine. Columbine is not some people's idea of pretty. Yesterday she saw a woman in a magazine ad that came reasonably close to the way she'd like to look at her best. She was startled. Unfortunately she can't find a copy of it online to show you. Columbine dreamed of being a mermaid last night. It's one of her two most common dreams where she's not a human. In the other, she's a dryad, and sometimes she stops to let her feet root, closing her eyes and extending her arms up unto the sun, letting the light feed her green photosynthetic skin. © columbine |
