I am the most powerful woman in the world, so it might surprise you that each night I sit in front of my vanity mirror crying.
As I tear my lashes away and wipe my palate clean with a rag, I catch my reflection and sob. I'm often appalled at the make up stains in my hand.
I think back to the little girl I once was, and all the untouchable aspirations she had for me. Instead their is a Gin soaked, debutant worse than any Hollywood monster.
We work with what we're given, but I can't help feel violated and betrayed by myself, by men, by society, by my dreams.
I laugh and cry at the same time, wiping each ounce of dignity from my face, until I'm clean.
I hear him call from the other room and my stomach churns.
Do you think he'd appreciate me au natural?
I guess I'll never know.
