When I used to peer into the mirror I saw a girl whose identity was not founded in the amounts of makeup she could make into a masterpiece, it was a girl who was confident in her own skin, and claimed her imperfections as uniquely her… she was happy. She was full of life and hope. Her eyes shown brightly and her smile reached her ears; however, as time passed and beauty became a mask to create and cover up the natural, that confident girl became less and less recognizable. The light in her eyes dimmed and her confidence was replaced with vanity and discontent. Her need for approval and desire to be seen as beautiful wore heavily on her shoulders. Now all that’s to be seen when she looks in the mirror is that monster, called Vanity, that breathes out smoke and promises acceptance, only to raise the standards two-fold with each passing day. Every imperfection and wrinkle— “be damned, cake on more makeup, matter of fact, anything on your face that makes you -you-, might as well add some concealer there too.” the beast says. “No matter how much of yourself you lose in the process, trust it.” It whispers in your ears. That monster that I see everyday and want to abandon, has seemed to become apart of me and I just want to scream to that girl that I used to know, “Love yourself. Every part— the wrinkle, the unmatched eyebrows, the small lips, big nose.. it’s yours. It’s what make you you and theres nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t invite that monster here. It doesn’t belong.” But I didn’t tell that girl any of those things and now all has become Vanity.