So why do you give me lip for having a few strands of hair growing on my chin and upper lip? So what if my eye brows are out of shape like an unpruned bramble bush? So what if I have hair on my legs? So what if I have blotchy skin with the dry patches showing through? Why can’t I chose to not cover my chapped lips with lip stick and/or lip gloss? Yes I have an untamed crown of hair on my head, so what? So what if I chose not to dye my greys like the others out there? Yes I wear loose clothes, because they are comfortable, so what? I choose not to conform I choose to stay dark and blotchy I choose to have unwanted hair in unwanted places I choose to keep my greys grey and my whites white I choose defiance, I scream! In my head, I scream a blood curdling scream I scream out loud, with each yank of the waxing strip. I am defiant, I tell myself, as the thread weaves my eyebrows in place. I do not conform, I tell myself as my face is scrubbed clean. I go against the flow, I remind myself as foil strips cover my greys. I suffer in silence and with a smile. Because its easier to conform, than to rebel. Its easier to conform than to rebel, I repeatedly remind myself. Its just easier to conform, to accept defeat. I’m told there’s sweetness in rebellion But I must confess, I make for a sweeter picture after the makeover.
