Pretty.

I wonder if Rihanna ever looks in the mirror and thinks, ugh! Or someone like Shakira – does she ever want to change a certain feature of her face? Does flawless-skinned Taylor Swift ever avoid the mirror in the morning, thinking oily bitch? You might be thinking obviously not, Jax, duh, but hey, they’re human too. What the hell do I know?

Thing is, those of us that aren’t in the spotlight and in photo shoots probably look at those women and think: I don’t look like her; therefore, I must not be pretty (or maybe some of you don’t think that and are super confident. If so, I like that!). Some of us think that because those ladies are pretty they are bestowed talent and money and handsome lovers. Like, they deserve it more than the rest of us or something. My friend told me she didn’t think she was pretty, and I want her to know that she is! She is beautiful, matter of fact, like the first opening of a petal on the first rosebud to have bloomed on the most stunning of days in the garden of Eden.

I tried to console her, but I couldn’t dare tell her that I, too, have felt that way. Many times. I don’t know where it stems from for me, but I’ve looked in the mirror and thought, uuuf. One day I was so pissy drunk and tripping that I looked in the mirror after taking a leak and said, aloud, “you are so fucking ugly.” I actually said that to myself. Whatta creep, huh? I guess I wasn’t feeling myself that night. That ain’t right Jax, that ain’t right.

Now, listen. I’m not here to tell you that it’s your heart that is beautiful or there’s so much more to you than your looks or something along those lines. You should already know that to be true. But hearing those things doesn’t make you feel better about yourself, does it now? So, I propose that instead of comparing ourselves to others or punching the mirror, we should have some fun. Let’s not think of our features as ugly or too-this or not-enough-this or crooked or whatever. Look at each feature positively, rather than negatively. Make a little poem out of your face, cause shit, the truth is, it’s the only face you’ve fucking got, so deal with it. No, don’t deal with it – appreciate it. You have a face! After looking at my face in a different way, I came up with these little gems:

My eyes aren’t actually small – they squint because they are successfully reading people’s minds. At first glance my eyes look plain brown, but when the sun hits them you can see a hint of red/copper, because I am diabolical, obviously. Only people who I allow to get close enough notice that, however, so back up, son.

My mouth, though incredibly small, is the vessel through which my wit and cynicism spew, allowing me to get into all the trouble I do. I can get very loud, but I also like to whisper. I pout when I am mad, when I am thinking, when I’m cold, when I’m relaxed. Basically, I am always pouting.

When I am mad or being a brat, the first thing to bunch up is my chin. I guess that goes hand-in-hand with my pout. Oh, and my chin never gets pimples.

Red lipstick looks good on me. My latest boy toy, after looking at my face for a minute, said, “you have full lips…like, small full lips. I like them.” Umm, yeah. In love. *swoon*

My forehead is rather grand, but shit, my ginormous brain has to fit somewhere! Did you know that back in the day large foreheads were thought to be a good thing amongst the wealthy, a way to distinguish a person’s intelligence? Yeah, buddy, I’m royalty (ok, I may have made that up, not sure).

My eyebrows are sparse, and good damn thing, because I hate having to do my eyebrows. I can’t even imagine having to go to the salon on a weekly basis. Thanks, but I’ll keep my three strands. I try my very best to stay stone-faced in some situations, but my damn eyebrow always gives me away (if ya smeeeeeeeell whhhhat the Rock is cookin’!).

I have several birth marks on my face, and I get those from my dad. I like to pretend they are part of a far-away and beautiful constellation. I wonder if my daughter will get them as well, a map of undiscovered galaxies.

I used to be weirded out by my high cheekbones, but apparently those are in. Let’s Vogue! Best part is, I don’t have to suck in my cheeks like an alien when applying bronzer or blush cause I already know where the fuck my cheekbones are.

My nose is small, but I have the sense of smell of a hound. I can always smell who stinks so I can steer clear, and I can always tell when good food is around. I can also smell fear. People pinch my nose a lot, and ya’ll are lucky I haven’t bit someone’s finger off yet, mufuckas.

My teeth…well, those are beyond fucked up, there’s no getting around that. I wore braces for five years for what? For my damn tooth to stick out again? Sheeeeit. The only thing that I can think of is that my creator had to give me at least one flaw, or else I’d be too perfect.

See? That was actually fun, sitting here and thinking about myself in positive and funny ways. Your turn, my precious babies!

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