Noticing.Thirty

On my face, talking out loud to God, for the first time in what I realize is half a year. My prayers sound casual but cut deep–simple language for complex heartaches. Another turn of the spiral. Another corner of the secret place. Coffee on the back porch accompanied by the buzz of the city waking up and the cat scratching on the inside of the kitchen window. Dysmorphia. What I see in the mirror is not what’s there. I want to be beautiful, but I’m not willing to stretch beyond the comfortabl...