I just want to feel beautiful
in a way I can actually see.
Something real.
Something that settles on me
and doesn't disappear
the moment I look in the mirror.
Like the sky full of sparkles
the kind you wish for
when you hope your little girl
will grow up seeing magic
when she looks at herself.
I want that feeling.
That soft shine.
That light in the eyes
that isn't just made of tears.
Eyes that don't only know crying,
but know how to glow too.
I want to believe her
when she calls me beautiful
my little girl,
not a baby anymore,
a teen now,
growing up right in front of me.
I want to hear those words
without my throat closing,
without tears answering for me.
I want to smile back at her
and mean it.
To see what she sees.
Not perfection.
Not flawless.
Just beautiful enough
to stand in the mirror
and not break.
Maybe beauty isn't something
that suddenly arrives one morning
and stays.
It comes in fragments
in borrowed moments,
in the way light rests on your face
when you aren't paying attention,
in the seconds between tears
when your eyes forget to hurt.
Some days I almost see her.
The woman my teen girl swears is there.
The one she looks at
without hesitation,
without pity,
without the long pause
I give myself.
She doesn't search for flaws.
She doesn't brace for impact.
She just smiles
like it's obvious.
I wonder what it feels like
to live in that version of me.
To wake up
and not prepare for disappointment.
To pass a mirror
and not feel my chest tighten.
To exist in this body
without needing to apologize
for taking up space.
Maybe beauty, for now,
is quieter than I expected.
It's surviving another day
in a body that feels unfamiliar
and still choosing to show up.
It's the way she hugs me
like I'm safe,
like I'm warm,
like I'm home.
Beauty
isn't what I see yet
it's what she refuses
to stop seeing.
So I will hold that for now.
Her certainty.
Her stubborn, shining belief.
Until one day
I catch my reflection off guard
and don't look away.
Until one day
the sparkle she talks about
isn't something I'm searching for
it's something
I recognize.
With Love,
Alizabeth
